


Home Owlone

by CaughtFeelings



Category: Home Alone (Movies), Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Battleship, Chloé Wants To Protect You From Making Bad Decisions, F/M, Faking Out, Gabriel ships Adrinette, Gen, Humor, New York City, Post-Reveal Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Post-Reveal Love Square, Pre-Relationship, Robbing Agreste Mansion Is a Terrible Idea, Style Queen, Tom Ships Ladrien, Tom Ships Marichat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaughtFeelings/pseuds/CaughtFeelings
Summary: Immediately post-Oblivio, memories kept.Marinette leaves on a prestigious internship across the Atlantic Ocean, trusting Adrien to stay behind and protect the city as Chat Noir and Mr. Bug. Their partnership, which they are very clear will not be a relationship until Hawkmoth is defeated, can survive this separation for four short days- but is never given the chance, when Adrien is summarily bundled up and sent with her by his father, who is on a one-man anti-Ladrien crusade, and has some interior decorating to do.Now they're in New York City, being supervised by an unlikely chaperone, trying to control hormones that neither of them want to acknowledge, and worrying about their city, after discovering that Rena Rouge, Carapace, and Queen Bee are all unavailable as well.When Hawkmoth sends out an inevitable Akuma, who's going to protect Paris? Who, who?





	1. Thursday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writer_slk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writer_slk/gifts).



“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Marinette fussed, packing literally every black blazer and pink  pair of pants she owned into an impossibly small suitcase. “This is a terrible plan. The Glamour is good at hiding our identities, but I doubt it’s “suddenly Ladybug is a blond boy who looks suspiciously like Chat Noir” good.”

“You’re just worried I’m going to look good in red, and you’re not going to be there to see it,” Adrien teased from his perch on the chest near the window, where, were he less of a gentleman and ever deigned to snoop, he would have found his next forty years of birthday presents. He was making sure Marinette’s tablet and sketchbook were securely packed in a messenger bag for her carry-on, together with a change of clothes in case the suitcase got lost, a phone charger, and rather more pocket money than he had told her would be in there.

He looked up, and she kissed him on the nose, then admired her handiwork. “I know exactly how good you look in red, my kitten,” she said, and his heart stopped. “But that’s not the deal. You fight the Akumas, Tikki purifies the butterfly, bring in backup if you have to but avoid Mister Bug unless you absolutely must and no dual wielding under any circumstances. We want to make Hawkmoth think Ladybug or, if it comes down to it, Ladynoir could swing in and be the cavalry at any moment, remember. Tikki and Plagg can recharge and tag team, but you can’t, and if Hawkmoth hits you with one Akuma after the next rapid-fire, you’re eventually going to get tired and break focus, and then Hawkmoth will have both Miraculouses and you. And then I will come back and save you if I have to pilot the plane myself, but that’s a nine hour flight and a lot can happen in that time.”

Adrien put his arms around Marinette’s neck, and touched his forehead to hers. “Don’t worry, Bugaboo. You’ve built an amazing team. As lost as we would all be without you, we can survive a long weekend. Go rock Style Queen NYC the way you were born to. I promise I’ll be fine, and unless the safety of Paris demands it, I’ll be watching and texting you encouragement the whole time.”

“You’re so good to me,” Marinette said, her stress melting away.

Adrien winked, letting just a little Chat Noir show through. “I’ll be better once we’re official.”

Marinette pouted. “We said no dating until Hawkmoth is defeated. I love you and we’re going to, but it’s too dangerous for now. In any sane universe, we shouldn’t even know who each other are yet.”

“Well, Oblivio happened, and I’m glad they did. So in the meantime, I’m going to see my very good friend off, but since I can’t sweep her off her feet and carry her there, we’re going to have to walk, and your parents want to walk with us, which means we should finish up.”

Fifteen minutes later, Adrien and Marinette came down from her room and met up with Marinette’s parents. After some fussing, and much reassurance that Marinette had everything she could need and would be supervised the whole time, they headed over to Le Grand Paris as a group.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean, weight limit exceeded?!? Everything in here is a priceless treasure that I cannot possibly do without. How about you lose thirty pounds off that fat belly of yours and then we try and take off, I bet then the weight limit would be fine. Ugh, rude.”

“I’m glad you can join us this time,” Audrey Bourgeois told Marinette, over the sound of Chloé tearing into the pilot in the background. “You’re going to love New York. You should think seriously about higher education here. Adrien honey, I mean this with no disrespect, but there are other companies besides _Gabriel_ for Marinette to intern and she should find one that will allow her to thrive. Gabriel is an artist but he will chew her up until there’s nothing left if we let him.”

“I don’t know,” Adrien said, mouth quirking to a smile. “Marinette is tougher than she looks.”

Audrey sighed. “Okay, that has to stop.”

Marinette looked quickly around for Stormy Weather, because the temperature had instantly dropped 20 degrees. “Excuse me?” she said.

“You two are not fooling anyone with your “just friends” act, and you have to. Don’t get me wrong, you have all the potential to knock Ladybug and Chat Noir off the pedestal of being Paris’s “it” couple in a few years once this Akuma nonsense clears up, and it will sell me so many magazine subscriptions. But you have to manage it right in the long term. Marinette, you have so much potential, but people can and will spin you as a Cinderella at best and a golddigger at worst, unless you get your start mentored by anyone at all except an Agreste. I made Gabriel; let me make him the first serious competition he has ever faced. Think about it.”

“I’m sorry, Mme. Bourgeois, but that’s nonsense,” Tom said protectively. “Marinette was winning design competitions sponsored by _Gabriel_ when Marinette and Adrien barely knew each other. She has real talent.”

“Marinette’s work is more creative than most of the professional designs I work with,” Adrien insisted, consciously reminding himself NOT to be Chat Noir, and vaguely insulted that Mme. Bourgeois thought that he and his Lady could ever be rivaled by him and his Princess. The logic fell apart when he thought about it, but psychologically, his hackles were up.

“My daughter has far too much integrity to ever accept a handout, let alone solicit one,” Sabine said softly. “And if you question that, it makes me wonder how you became so successful yourself. Surely it has nothing to do with marrying the mayor of one of the fashion capitals of the world?”

“Andre is the reason Style Queen is based out of New York,” Audrey said, with a fury Marinette recognized all too well from Chloé. “If you think tabloids from our day were bad enough, Sabine, wait until you see what Twitter can do. That little stunt in the fountain could have ruined Marinette if it had been any campaign other than “Radiant, Carefree, Dreamy,” and as Adrien grows up, he’s going to have fans that will want him to be other things regardless of what the official line is. If literally anyone with half a clue how public relations works decides they want to smear either Marinette or Adrien, I want to give them as little ammunition to do it as possible. You already have exactly the right idea, downplaying whatever you have right now, and if Marinette wants to start off under _Gabriel’s_ wing, that’s fine. Just don’t let it be the only company on your CV or you will spend the rest of your life trying to not let it define you.”

“Audrey, while I am fully aware of and appropriately grateful for everything you have done for me, I will not stand idly by while you poach my up and coming designers.”

Everyone except Audrey turned in surprise as Gabriel Agreste strode towards the helipad. His assistant Nathalie walked slightly back and to the side, deferential but not far. She carried a suitcase.

“What-” Adrien began, in shock.

“You didn’t come say goodbye this morning, so I’m here to see you off,” Gabriel told his son. “Your first independent international trip is significant, I am told that a sendoff is appropriate.”

“I don’t understand,” Marinette said, trying to control rising panic. “It’s a women’s fashion show-”

“And thus a rare opportunity to see the behind the scenes of fashion as a business without having to worry about the runway at all. This trip has not been announced to the press; it is my intent that Adrien be as free from the paparazzi as possible.”

Gabriel surveyed the emotions Adrien was cycling through with satisfaction. They were a jumbled mess, but he caught reluctance, shock, terror, pride, embarrassment, confusion, and a heady dose of fear. “I had heard that you wanted the opportunity to leave the house more. Clearly, your friend Mr. Lahiffe was mistaken. I apologize for my error; there is no need for you to travel at all.”

“That’s nonsense,” Tom said. “This is a great opportunity! You should go, Adrien, it sounds like fun.”

“Go,” Marinette told Adrien, catching his glance with a conversation happening entirely in subtext. “I’ll stay.”

“Nonsense, Marinette, we’re not leaving without you,” Audrey Bourgeois said.

“I’m not feeling very well,” Adrien said, and looked it. “I’d love to, but I can’t today. Maybe a rain check?”

“Social anxiety often feels like digestive upset,” Nathalie offered helpfully. “Your dietician is exceptional, so unless you’re underreporting the carbohydrates you’re having at the Dupain-Cheng bakery-”

“I’m sorry, but we take dietary restrictions very seriously,” Sabine said. “And your dietician is a quack. France banned unhealthily thin models two years ago, and Adrien is clearly burning far more calories than he’s eating.”

“Chloé?” Marinette asked Adrien.

“Field trip with my mom!” Chloé crowed happily, trying to shove more suitcases into the helicopter.

“I need to call my Chinese tutor and cancel,” Adrien tried helplessly.

“You don’t have a lesson until Tuesday,” Nathalie said, without having to consult her tablet. “Even with travel time, this should not be a conflict.”

“What’s _really_ going on?” Gabriel asked Adrien softly.

Every pair of eyes except Chloé’s turned to look at Adrien.

“Nnnnnothing,” he said in clear defeat. “Thank you for coming to see me off; this will be a great opportunity.”

“You’ll both be fine,” Tom said, clapping one of his massive hands on Marinette and Adrien’s backs.

“Your English is great, and you will have everything _Style Queen_ has to offer. This will be fun,” Audrey said, herding the teens to the helicopter.

With a melodramatic sob, Chloé selected the final suitcase to cull, and threw it to the tarmac.

As the helicopter took off, and Marinette’s parents waved and called their goodbyes, Gabriel stood, hands clasped behind his back, and watched the delegation leave.

“Am I correct in my assessment that your daughter has amorous intentions towards my son?” he asked, once the helicopter was far enough away that he could be heard without raising his voice.

“That’s really no one’s business but theirs,” Sabine objected.

“Then I will speak in theoreticals," he said, as the chopper disappeared to the sky. "If she did, it would behoove her to move quickly. He has caught the attention of a certain other raven-haired young lady, in red instead of pink; I would hate to see your daughter’s chance go out my son’s window.”

 

* * *

 

“Look at me,” Marinette told a very glum Adrien, as he took her earrings out of his pocket and gave the back to her. “It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t believe her. “You left the fate of Paris in my hands and literally didn’t even have time to leave before I let you down.”

Her heart broke for him. He didn’t have to be wearing his ears, for her to see them flattened sadly against his head. She bumped his shoulder with hers gently, earning a small smile. “This is a win! Think about all the times we tried to invite you out, but you were overcommitted. Maybe it’s progress towards more independence in general?”

“As long as there’s a Paris to come back to,” Adrien said, watching it disappear beneath the clouds. “And it’s not, you know, overrun by love zombies or pigeons or a rampaging toddler.”

“Then we go with Plan B,” Marinette said, resolute. “The minute anything goes even a little bit wrong, we bail on New York and fly back.”

A gust of wind buffeted the helicopter, and they both flinched, falling into defensive stances.

Marinette sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it, there’s only one way this still works.”

Adrien’s face fell. “She’s not going to give them back.”

“I have faith in her. She gave back the comb, after I told her she would never be able to have it again. She was  _more ready_  to give back the Comb, than Rena gave back the necklace, the first time I gave it to her. She always has, and she will this time, too. She's trustworthy, and as soon as we're ready to send out another hero, she's the first on my list.”

“And what if she won’t?” Adrien fussed. “She has wanted this ever since she had known there was a this to want. I don’t want my new partner to be Scarlet Lady.”

“She won’t be,” Marinette said. “She’ll be Marigold. Temporarily. While we wait for your  _real_ Lady to come back.”

He blushed. “It sounds even better when you say it. Cutie Bee.”

“Let’s work on naming me if we get to that stage, minou. I believe in her. And she knows better than to blow  _another_ identity.”

“Like you’re about to? Like  _we’re_ about to?”

“If it’s us at stake, or Paris, we will always choose Paris's well being first. We’ve made this decision hundreds of times before. What could possibly go wrong?”

 

* * *

 

“I have a favor to ask,” Marinette announced to Chloé, as if she had any right to.

Chloé rolled her eyes. “Look, Dupain-Cheng. Adrien made me promise to tolerate you, not to like you. We’re not friends and you don’t get to ask me for favors.”

“Okay,” Marinette said, “I’ll make you a trade. I need you to stay in Paris.”

Chloé bristled. “There is literally nothing you can offer me that I want more than this trip.”

Clearly, Marinette was going to try.

“Chloé Bourgeois,” she said, as formally as she could, taking the earrings out of her pocket and extending them to her. “This is the Miraculous of the Ladybug, which grants the power of Creation. You will use it for the greater good. Once the job is done, you must return the Miraculous to me. Can I trust you?”

_**“WHAT THE-”** _

Chloé looked at her nemesis, her idol, and pieces crashed into place. Gingerly, she picked up the earrings, removed the gold hoop from one of her ears, and put in the tiny stud.

Absolutely nothing happened.

Hope decayed into white-hot anger. “Is this some kind of a joke?” she breathed.

Marinette’s eyes were going wide. “Tikki,” Marinette she hissed, “Where are you?”

Okay, this was too much.

“Listen, Marinette,” Chloé said, explaining as patiently as she could, and removing the tiny red stud earring and giving them both back to Marinette. She couldn’t afford to hit her in the helicopter, she would fall out and not even her daddy could protect her from murder charges. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with cosplaying or roleplaying Ladybug. Everyone in Paris is either doing it, or lying. But trying to trick me into missing out on a major bonding experience with my mom just so that you and Adrien can go on a love cruise is so far beyond revenge for anything I have allegedly done to you it’s absolutely sick.”

Marinette put her earrings back in, and turned to Adrien, who, by Chloé’s rotten luck, had been paying attention. “Did I break her?” she asked.

“Maybe we just need the box,” he said, patting his jacket down, with increasing panic.

“No, I don’t think so,” Marinette said. “I never needed the box when I recovered from near misses.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you were in on this cruel little prank, too,” Chloé bit savagely at Adrien. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people that ditches all your friends the minute you get a girlfriend. What, are you supposed to be Chat Noir?”

“Claws out?” he tried helplessly.

“Pay attention,” Marinette told Chloé. “This is amazing.”

 

It might have been the compliment, but Adrien felt like showing off. He popped his ankles and knees, and closed his eyes, striking a dramatic Michael Jackson pose, with maybe a little more flair than usual. He swiped his fingers across his eyes, opening them and smiling. He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing the brand-approved neatness and teasing out his ears-

His ears-

His-

“It’s not working,” he said, horrified.

 

Chloé just stared.

“Plagg! Where are you?” asked Marinette.

And then it all became horrifyingly clear.

“Oh, my God,” Chloé said. “You got hit by an Akuma.”

“We what-” Marinette began, but Chloé didn’t bother to listen to the rest of her sentence.

“I knew you’d never walk away from your absolutely diabetes-inducing crush on Ladybug for Marinette of all people,” she told Adrien, disgusted, “and for a while I thought she was lying to you and I was going to absolutely tear her a new one, but this is just ridiculous.”

“I swear to you Chloé,” Adrien began, but interrupted himself with “Plagg stop messing around  _where are you-”_

“Did you take the ring off?” Marinette asked, practically begging at this point. “There’s zero reason for the ring to be broken, too, are we being punished for trying to reveal our identities or something, is this a permanent problem-“

“I can’t believe I’m going to spend my whole vacation babysitting you two so that you don’t decide, I don’t know, you want to go jump off Oscorp Tower thinking you can yoyo your way to safety, this would be so much easier if I could just keep Pollen, there is zero chance the real Ladybug or Chat Noir have to deal with this kind of crazy shenanigans-”

“Look, I promise it’s me, I told you on heroes’ day-”

“Tikki and Plagg are Kwamis, nobody would know what a Kwami is unless they are Miraculous wielders, yours is named Pollen and he’s-”

“You have absolutely no way of proving that’s not an implanted memory, and those don’t even look like the real Miraculouses, they’re the wrong color for one thing-”

“It’s only silver when it’s empty, Plagg turns it black and he can show you if he would  _stop messing around and do his job this is serious come on-_ ”

“Alya is going to be devastated when she finds out this is just Akuma damage, she was so excited for you-”

“Hold on a minute, this is actually an Akuma side effect, oh crap am I taking advantage of you? You have turned me down so many times so many different ways oh my gosh I’m so sorry-”

“Do not even go there, we are so far past the wacky misunderstandings point and there is absolutely nothing for you to apologize for, I  _told_ you the only reason I kept turning you down was that I was fixating on the other you-”

“I’m sorry, but don’t tell me that doesn’t sound like Akuma damage, do you even hear yourselves I know there is zero point in arguing with someone when an Akuma is messing with their heads they’re so far past reason but this is just ridiculous-“

 

* * *

 

“Look, I know you’re the ideas Kwami, but this is just stupid,” Plagg said, as Butler Jean carried them into Le Grand Paris, inside the cream-colored leather suitcase where they had stowed away.

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of time,” Tikki said. “And we need to get to Master Fu and figure out what to do next, and we can’t come back to Paris once we leave it, we can only stay while the Miraculouses leave.”

Plagg looked up at the top of the suitcase, which was starting to fray under his Destructive influence. “We need to find Chosen, soon, or Hawkmoth is going to catch on that something weird is happening. We’re vulnerable, like this.”

Tikki frowned, concentrating. Violently colorful, paisley crochet work started to patch the fraying patches, then adorn the handles and line the inside. It was beautiful, and whimsical, and Creative. Problem fixed.

“Do you think it’s time for Carapace and Rena Rouge to keep Wayzz and Trixx permanently?” she asked.

“That might work,” Plagg said. “If Carapace can put a Shellter over the Butterfly, and Rena can make a Mirage of Ladybug and Chat Noir showing up to purify it.”

“Yeah, let’s try it!” Tikki said, to reassure herself at the same time as Plagg. “How far away are they going? Like, 6,000 kilometers? That’s not that far, when you think about the universe being 46 billion light years.”

“Do you have any idea where to find them? Or should we look for Master Fu first? They don’t have Trixx and Wayzz yet.”

“I don’t know, but the school is right there, we may as well look.”

 

* * *

 

Spring Break was one of the most important parts of the school year for Collège Françoise Dupont, and its internships program was an extremely important time for the students to explore their horizons outside of school and research What They Wanted To Be When They Grew Up. Principal Damocles supported it wholeheartedly.

But it was more than a little lonely, to have the quiet school all to himself.

Behind a secret wall in his office, his collection of vintage Knight Owl comics, a PVC statue, and the most high-quality replica Owl Talon and Hoomerang on the market, hung in their place of honor, framing his pride and joy. The cream, argyle wool sweater, orange leggings, utility belt, boots, and cape, called to him. From the computer on the desk, Owlbert watched him, silent, for now.

_What do you want to be, when you grow up?_

Principal Damocles sighed heavily. “If only,” he said. “Ladybug and Chat Noir have an internship program, too. Volpina, Rena Rouge, Carapace, and now Queen Bee. And what’s this I hear about Aspik and Viperion and Multimouse and Bunnix?  _I just wish I had powers_.”

 

* * *

 

 A strange pull caught the attention of both Kwamis as they floated past the principal’s office.

“What was that?” Plagg asked, confused.

“I don’t know,” said Tikki, nervously, “but it’s not a good time to investigate without Chosen. Change of plans. Let’s go find Master Fu.”


	2. Friday (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkmoth does some interior decorating with the assistance of a friend from Etheria. The Dupain-Chengs receive a massive catering order. Nathalie makes a friend. Alya and Nino get an awesome archaeology internship in Tibet. Master Fu considers calling on a veteran hero in Paris's hour of need. Marinette and Adrien do not get married or go skydiving.

“I have an idea,” Adrien muttered into Marinette’s ear, as they waited to board the plane to La Guardia.

“Good,” Marinette said, “Because I can’t call for a Lucky Charm and am running out.”

“Do you remember Gorizilla?”

She stared at him flatly. “If Chloé is right and you try to skydive your way back to Paris without Plagg, I will kill you. You know, if the fall doesn’t. Which it will.”

“Nope, I’m not ever doing that again, either. But remember at the end, when I was both of me at the same time?”

She frowned. “You’re right. That was a neat trick. How did you do it? And can you do it on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean at the same time, and without Plagg?

He grinned. “I might. I have a fan that’s actually a pretty good body double. Theoretically, we could buy a plane ticket for him to go to New York and wander around in a hat and shades, and I could fly back to Paris. He’d jump at the chance. Not from the plane, you don’t have to kill him.”

“No, that wouldn’t work,” Marinette said, frowning. “For one, if the genuine Adrien doesn’t show up at La Guardia for his return trip, it sparks an international manhunt and your father never lets you leave the house again. Secondly, he’d never fool Chloé, especially since she’s watching us. Right now, in fact,” she said, nodding towards where she was standing, a few feet away, and watching them a little too closely.

“Play along,” he responded.

“What-?” she asked, and he put his arm around her waist, pulling her close, as if to kiss her. “We’re still in Paris! What happened to waiting-”

“But Chloé isn’t looking any more,” he said, lips millimeters from hers. She could feel how his heartbeat and breathing had sped up, and it sent hers racing, too. And, sure enough, Chloé had made a retching sound and turned away in disgust. “We can use this. If they think we’re already dating, we can pretend to, and use that for privacy when we need it. Fake out with me.”

“I could actually kiss you for that one,” she said, closing her eyes, wrapping her arms around his neck and tilting her head. She might not be able to yet, but she was going to get as close as she could in the meantime. “That’s brilliant, and doesn’t have an ulterior motive at all.”

“It was worth a shot. Okay, so no fake Adrien running around New York,” he said, a little breathlessly. “What about you? I’ve seen you have two genuine Ladybugs at a time before, or Ladybug and Marinette in the same place. How did you do Timebreaker?”

“Hawkmoth definitely isn’t going to send me an Akuma that can send me back in time by five days,” Marinette said, trying to keep her head coherent. “Seven minutes erased five people from time completely. Five days would probably take seven thousand people, and I don’t want to take the risk that Miraculous Cure would fix it.”

“Okay, we’re going to have to call somebody,” he said. “And I actually don’t have Master Fu’s number, or Rena Rouge or Carapace’s.”

She tensed, and he pulled back to study her face. “I do?”

“NOPE,” Chloé shouted, who was apparently paying attention again. “NOT HAPPENING. YOU NEED AN OFFICIANT FOR WEDDING VOWS, AND I’M NOT LETTING YOU ANYWHERE NEAR ONE UNTIL LADYBUG CAN FIX YOUR STUPID BRAINS.”

 

* * *

 

 

Estra Vesselak was a contractor, not a zoologist, but true scientists were not constrained by discipline. “Hello, little butterfly,” she said, looking up from her assignment to build a creative space for a teenage designer in one of the local mansions. She held out her screwdriver for it to rest. “What are you?”

The psychic link was immediate, familiar, and liberating.

ENTRAPTA. I AM HAWKMOTH. ARE YOU FRUSTRATED BY…

“Oh good, Hawkmoth, I’m glad you stopped by,” she said, accessing her full memories from the last time she had noticed such a butterfly. “I’ve been modeling a tracking system off the data the Ladyblog has been publishing, and I think I can uncover the civilian identities of Ladybug and Chat Noir! If we can extrapolate their emotional signatures when untransformed, all I need is a Miraculous holder for a control group.”

YOU WILL NOT DEFEAT ME SO EASILY!-

“Whoa, down boy, I was talking about Chloé Bourgeois, let’s wait for the next time she transforms into Queen Bee and kidnap her. But she’s somewhere over the Atlantic right now, maybe you can stop by again later?

THIS LEAD IS PROMISING, BUT NOT WHY I AM CONTACTING YOU TODAY.

“Look, Hawkmoth, while I would love to offer you an entire portfolio of Miraculous tracking and retrieval hardware and software solutions, I’m close to a breakthrough with this one. I’m going to follow through with it and see where the Science takes me. If you’re not going to offer me a superhero for beta testing, maybe one of the heroes will volunteer and I can use it to find out your civilian identity. It doesn’t really matter to me.”

EVEN IF I COULD REQUEST SOME INTERIOR DECORATING WORK…?

“Oh, well, that’s different. There’s no kill quite like overkill, that’s what I always say. The usual, then? Guns, grenades, melee traps, area of effect mechanisms? Fire? Poison? Oooh, I could set off a giant boulder to chase people down! How do you feel about snake pits?”

OUTWARD FACING. I HAVE A BIT OF A PEST CONTROL PROBLEM.

 

* * *

 

Master Fu added just a little more chamomile to his calming tea than usual, as he listened to the Kwamis explain themselves.

“They just wanted to prove they had this under control.”

“It’s not like it’s the first time he’s left Paris for work, and he’s going to have to start doing it more as he grows up.”

“She’s going to, too, once her career takes off.”

“So we told them what happens when Chosen get injured-”

“-Or pregnant, not that we’re going to have to worry about that for a few years, but you know how humans are, they’re with us for so little time.”

“And she told him that they both already know and trust their backup when they’re not suited up, and that he’d be pleased with who they are-”

“And while that wasn’t enough for him to guess, I bet he would have, when it really came down to it. Or you would have given him the Miraculouses and he would have picked the same people anyway.”

“And that brings us to Rena Rouge and Carapace.”

Tikki paused for the first time since they had begun their story. “We know it’s a little unusual to send out Rena Rouge and Carapace before we need them, Master, but we were thinking that Rena could cast a Mirage of Ladybug and Chat Noir. Hawkmoth never needs to realize that they’re not in town. This could really work.”

Wayzz said nothing.

Plagg looked up from his cheese with flattened ears and an annoyed expression. “They’re not in town, are they?”

Wayzz sighed, and shook his head. “You are correct, your plan would have worked, if they were not already in Tibet with Marianne.”

“They’re WHERE?!?” Tikki squeaked. “Rena didn’t tell her anything about a trip to Tibet, and they talk about EVERYTHING!”

“Does Rena know who Ladybug is?” Master Fu asked, speaking for the first time since the Kwamis had begun their tale.

Tikki visibly deflated. “She didn’t have to have mentioned it was Miraculous-related. She could have just mentioned an internship overseas.”

“We made them swear a strict vow of silence,” Master Fu said. “Everything about the Tibet incident must remain absolutely confidential; until we have a better handle on Hawkmoth and Mayura, we cannot know who is listening or what information may leak. The thought had been that Rena’s investigative skill would have been wasted on TVi; she is already their rival, not their intern. Meanwhile, this is a valuable opportunity to assess Carapace’s potential as a future Guardian, once my time is at its end. Taking advantage of the Marshall College archaeology grant with Dr. Jones would have been a perfect opportunity, _if your Chosen had done a better job coordinating with me, and not called me as they were boarding their plane to La Guardia!”_

“So what do we do now?” Plagg asked.

Master Fu sighed, putting down his cup of tea, and walked to the gramophone. A secret combination of buttons exposed the Miracle Box, which he opened reverently. He stared at the Necklace and the Comb with visible regret, then opened each drawer of the Zodiac Miraculouses in turn. Dragon, Snake, Mouse, Rabbit- all were too risky to distribute yet. He closed the Miracle Box and replaced it.

“So, who’s our new partner?” Plagg asked.

“No one,” Master Fu said. “You’re going to stay here and behave yourselves. If I need to, I can transform personally.”

“No, you can’t!” Wayzz said, worried. “The whole point of sending out Ladybug and Chat Noir in the first place was that transforming at your age would be dangerous for you. And it would tell Hawkmoth that we’re vulnerable. What would we do if we lost, and he captured you?”

On the terrace below, a muscular young Italian lycée student was loudly calling for a toast to celebrate his boyfriend’s acceptance to art school in London, and turning his face as tomato red as his hair.

“Then we’ll play it by ear,” Master Fu said. “Perhaps a veteran hero can be called back temporarily.”

 

* * *

 

YOU HAVE DONE WELL, ENTRAPTA.

“I always do.”

YOU ARE SURE YOU DO NOT REQUIRE PAYMENT?

“I’m satisfied with our usual deal. Earrings and Ring go to you. Any other Miraculous comes to me for experimentation. Oh, and while you have my attention, any more leads on Mayura?”

…NONE.

“It’s a pity I can’t keep these memories longer than the Akumatization. I might be able to design some way to repair that Miraculous, someone could get very hurt if they’re not careful.”

White-hot rage filled Entrapta’s vision, blinding her, and she fell to her knees. Someone took her screwdriver from her, with a little more force than was really necessary, and snapped it.

Estra blinked up in confusion at Gabriel Agreste, from where she had fallen in his foyer. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I must have blacked out. I usually have a lot more sweets than I did today, it must have been low blood sugar. I don't even remember how I got here.”

“Are you injured?” he asked, helping her to her feet. “We can continue at some other time, if you need to go home and rest.”

“No, I’m looking forward to this!” Estra enthused, wiping her hands on her coveralls and dropping her welder’s mask into place. “Brilliant young girls need spaces to be creative. Maybe all I need is a snack?”

Gabriel smiled. “I’ll have the best bakery in town cater.”

 

* * *

 

Two things were immediately obvious to Sabine when Nathalie walked into the bakery at the very end of the lunch rush. The first, was that she was very clearly working herself sick. The second was that she needed somewhere quiet to recharge. Sabine knew she couldn’t do anything about the former. Marinette’s creative fervor had taught her that some things just had to run their course. But she could certainly do something about the latter.

“Welcome,” she said. “Please take your time. Let me know if I can help you with anything. Maybe a coffee to get you started?”

“You close in five minutes,” Nathalie told her. “It would be terrible manners for me to stay past that time.”

“I’ll need to stay for another half-hour or so, anyway,” Sabine said, “to do the nightly accounting and close up. If you like, you can have a seat and relax for a while. And you’re not imposing, if things go the way they look like they’re going to and we’re going to be family shortly.”

“I think Adrien and Marinette’s eventual relationship is almost inevitable by this point, but I’m not sure how that would make me-” Nathalie’s eyes went wide. “ _Oh._ I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I can see where you get that impression, but my relationship to the Agreste family is strictly professional.”

Sabine smiled. “Of course, and my apologies. Very good friendships between men and women can look like relationships, from the outside.”

“From the outside,” Nathalie muttered, but Sabine was a mother of a teenager and Nathalie did not mutter it quietly enough.

“Let me make you a coffee,” Sabine offered. “It’s on the house. You look like you could use a moment to rest.”

“There’s really no reason to offer me a discount at all,” Nathalie responded, “but I appreciate the gesture. I’m actually here to research- Your sign says everything baked fresh daily. What do you possibly do with all these leftovers?”

“There’s a food pantry that collects them,” Sabine said, smiling. “We can’t commit to them what they can expect, but they’re always appreciative for whatever we can provide.” She beamed at the day’s remainders: two dozen flavors of macarons, a bouquet of tarts, and a minor army of cookies, pies, brownies, and sweet bread.

“I would hate to disappoint them. If I were to buy your entire remaining stock, would paying for it all once over again as a donation to them make up for it?”

Sabine took a moment to register her shock. “Does the dietician really need all of it, for their research?”

It was good to see Nathalie smile. “No, just a very hungry contractor. Is it possible they can be delivered to the mansion this afternoon?”

Sabine stepped back to assess. Most things could be transported based on their existing system, and with the extra revenue from selling everything they had baked that day…

“I think so,” she said. “Is there a service entrance we should use?”

“For pastry drop-off, yes, and someone will be at the door to direct you. However, that also reminds me of the other reason I am here- Mr. Agreste would like to invite you and your husband to dinner, to get to know you better. As future in-laws. Are you available around 6? Do you have any dietary restrictions I should communicate?”

“This is a very different conversation than I was expecting, given what happened on the rooftop of Le Grand Paris!” Sabine said, trying to process what was going on.

“I apologize that we were so forceful,” Nathalie said. “Adrien has been hesitating in communicating his affection for your daughter for the better part of a year now. Sometimes the rules of inertia apply; things don’t move unless nudged. Or, occasionally, pushed.”

“I think we can use this opportunity to try to mend bridges while the kids are away,” Sabine said. “But regardless of your relationship to the Agreste family, our door is open to you, as well. In case you need that nudge.”

Nathalie smiled. “I’ll take that coffee, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She-Ra is a wonderful show that everyone here should watch. Entrapta as written as an Akuma is her actual character; Es'tra is her alias.
> 
> The Italian young man Master Fu is considering for a veteran hero is Louis, a cameo from Smoulder. Louis is my second favorite original character in the Ladybug fandom, and the story has my single favorite original Akuma. You should absolutely check it out.
> 
> Nathalie is an amazing character and deserves friends. Sabine is all love.


	3. Friday (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Gabriel play Battleship. Marinette and Adrien share a quiet moment at Style Queen and a Significant Door. Nathalie, Entrapta, and the Gorilla have a tea party. Marv and Harry unsuccessfully attempt to rob Jagged Stone. They do succeed in breaking into Agreste Mansion, where they discover something significant behind the portrait in Gabriel's office.

“Okay, so maybe the rumors about Paris are true,” groused Harry. “ _Alligators_ ? This is worse than the heists in New York and Chicago. I swear, if it’s that same stupid kid again, what is he now, forty? We were in the slammer for a long time, that’s long enough for him to launch the whole freaking _Saw_ franchise. It’s definitely long enough for him to buy an alligator.”

“That was a crocodile,” Marv said.

“Yeah, well, alligator or crocodile, it was a very good reason why this stupid hotel where things are literally made of 18 karat gold doesn’t appear to have any security officers at all. It has _crocodiles._ ”

“Do you want to just pick a different room? They can’t all have crocodiles. That one even has a weird, rainbow-y paisley crochet rug seeping out from under the door and looping around a table leg.”

“Oh, great, what, the next ones are going to have rhinoceroses or panthers or lions or tigers or bears? No. I don’t think so. I want to be able to run, if it turns out we’re playing Jumanji. Let’s go back to houses, they call it safe as houses for a reason. We can always go back to Le Grand Paris if we have to.”

“I dunno, Harry. I was promised gold.”

Marv gestured out the window. “Well, there’s only one house in this whole city with a thirty-foot, marble wall around it, and it looks like it’s under construction. How do you feel about storming a castle?”

Harry smiled. “There’s got to be good stuff in there.”

 

* * *

  

“Okay, the instant I can afford employees, I’m hiring you,” Marinette told Adrien as he shuffled the mountain of papers piling onto her workspace, triaging the things that were due imminently, things that would become much harder if left unattended, and things that were honestly not a huge deal but had been requested by important people who would be upset if they didn’t feel prioritized. The things that must be addressed by Marinette were laid portrait-style; the things that could be delegated to him were laid landscape style instead. She was fairly certain that there was a vertical element to his sorting too, but trusted that he had a system to it that he would announce once she could break her concentration away from trying to figure out how to make a reasonably aerobic hero costume that wouldn’t warp or split doing normal heroic activities. Armor limited mobility; spandex and latex tore; leather split. There was simply no way to design something functional without resorting to Kwami power. “Isn’t the kind of studying your father had in mind a little more executive?” she asked. “You’re being my Nathalie.”

He grinned. “I’ve already done what I need to for this convention, if my father wants me to practice how I’m going to approach Fashion when I come of age. Hot young idiot inherits billion dollar company, decides running it is hard, sells it for a euro to his hotter, smarter partner. Everyone I can network with, I either already know or will be meeting as part of the Dupain-Cheng design house; they’re already baked in with this pile. Now, what am I handling first?”

“You’re handling your own career. You need to have something to show for this trip too.”

Adrien put down his most recent paper and looked at Marinette. She dropped the sleeve whose armpit would not keep from pilling, and looked back. “The only job I want,” he said, “is to be your backup, in any way you’ll have me. You’re going to be amazing. Let me run support, it’s what I’m best at.”

She walked over and sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Your support means everything to me. But the whole point of this trip is planning for the future. Completely independent of me- assuming you had never met me. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

He was glad she wasn’t looking at him. “A stay at home dad.”

“What, seriously?” she asked, laughing. “That’s it?”

“It’s everything I want,” he said. “And it’s a full time job. I’d be emotionally fulfilled, and once I come of age and have access to the trust fund, we’ll have enough money that I can live comfortably into old age and support a family while doing so.”

“That sounds nice,” Marinette said. “With the bakery right below my house, I never thought of it that way.”

“It’s my favorite daydream,” he said. “I’ve got it all planned out. Every morning, I’d wake up and make everyone breakfast. Everything from the fruit salad or pancakes for the older kids, to the oatmeal for the younger. Then I’ll come back to bed, and wake my wife. She’s a late sleeper, and will probably throw a pillow at me, so I’ll have to do it with cuddles. When she’s in the shower, I’ll wake the kids and get them dressed. I’ll go over their homework with them at the breakfast table, until they’re confident they’re just as smart as their mom and going to rock their day. But they might forget, because they’re kids and school can be rough, so I’ll make little lunchboxes with sandwiches cut into cute shapes and write love notes in the compartments that hold their silverware.

“My wife is done in the shower by this point and has gotten dressed and joined us at the breakfast table. I know we haven’t talked about this yet, and I don’t want to force it, but if it’s you, your dad has taught me how to make the brioche that is a very strict Dupain family secret, and I’ve braided it into a Celtic love knot and put an egg glaze on it to make it shine like her- your?- eyes do. I want to make sure everyone in my family is well prepared for the day ahead.

You’ll go to work. You’ll be phenomenal at work. I’ll do everything I can to support you from home, because after I take our eldest to school, I’ll come home and read to the baby as much as she wants. After she’s tired from being held and played with, I’ll put her down for a nap, and I’ll play the piano until she sleeps soundly. And then I’ll tidy up in the kitchen, and maybe do some housework, or write something for the Ladyblog, or invite over Nino, since he works nights, or Chloé, who will never work a day she doesn’t want to.

“School gets out at 1:30, and that’s when the baby wakes up from her nap, so I’ll go get the other kids, and we’ll all do homework together and talk about our day. They’ll have over any friends they want, and I’ll entertain their parents if they want to come over as well. I know that sending your kids over to a strange man’s home is stressful, and I want them to rest easy. There’s a big lawn with trees and flowers that they can play on, if it’s nice out. If it’s not, or they prefer to stay indoors, there’s a play room.

“Around five, our kids’ friends’ parents take them home because it’s getting close to dinner time. As soon as they’re able, I’ll give the kids age-appropriate tasks to help with dinner, even if it’s arranging vegetables in pretty patterns in the glass pan where they’ll be baked. I want them to feel like they’re self-sufficient and teach them how to take care of people.

“My wife comes home probably around 6. She’s very important, so she sometimes works late, but it’s important to all of us that she have dinner with us. The kids show you the dinner they made- I helped- and we eat it together, around a table with chairs that are close enough that, if we all sit down and want to, we could all hold hands. And then if Nino has a show, I go- I haven’t missed a single one since quitting modeling and having control over my own schedule- and if he doesn’t, we all stay in. You're probably still working on your tablet, but we can all cuddle on the sofa, and I can probably read to the kids some more until it’s time to put them to bed.

“And then I hope I still get to patrol. If my bad luck held, and we don’t end up married, I hope I still get to see you. Hawkmoth has been in jail for years, and Paris is at peace, but we reassure people that Paris is protected, and we’re a deterrent to any other supervillains moving in. And I love my family, but I’m going to keep loving you for the rest of my life, and so I hope it all falls together the way I want it to, because when I try to imagine what my wife looks like, I can't imagine anyone else but you.”

His shoulder was wet. Was she crying? Crap, that was way too much too fast-

“The youngest is a boy,” Marinette said. “His name is Louis.”

“What are the other kids’ names?” Adrien asked, holding her.

He was going to learn how to make that brioche.

 

* * *

 

Dinner with the Dupain-Chengs probably cost more for the appetizers alone than they had brought in via croissant sales all day, but it was worth every euro in pure intel.

_Whoever told him he looks creepy when he smiles should be ashamed of themselves. It’s the kind of thing that only gets better with practice, and they probably embarrassed the poor man to the point that he feels awkward doing it, now. I’m so glad Adrien has school and modeling to get him out of the house. People are like plants; they wilt if they don’t get enough sunlight. I wonder if Gabriel has any hobbies. He should feel welcome to approach us as in-laws, and not as business partners or whatever this is. I wish that we could relax._

Gabriel smiled politely- _creepily_ \- at Sabine, who smiled warmly back, as if attempting to teach him how to do it properly.

_There you go! That’s progress._

Tom, meanwhile, was blathering on about some inane metaphor about flour, but his feelings were clear. Akuma survivors usually had a more open channel to Gabriel’s brain, and this one was matching well with the specific avenue he was trying to explore.

_Way to go, Marinette! That’s my girl. You’ve had a crush on Adrien all year, and I have no idea what happened in Montparnasse Tower or why all the kids are blushing when I ask them about Super Penguino, but if Hawkmoth is going to play matchmaker for everyone in Marinette’s class, I’m glad it worked out like this. Especially after that nightmare with-_

Gabriel choked on his 1,000€ glass of wine, spattering it across his cream-colored cravat, shirt, and vest, where it soaked in like blood. And then suddenly that absolute bear of a man was slamming his palm against his back and ordering him to breathe.

_MARICHAT?!? It’s a Love Square?!?_

“I’m glad that you find Marinette and Adrien… compatible… fusion cuisine aside,” he gasped, trying to clean himself up. “Sometimes, the most responsible thing we can do as parents is to make sure our children are not needlessly throwing themselves into danger by courting superheroes. Let Ladybug and Chat Noir date each other; pursuing civilians in any fashion is irresponsible of them. I would hate to wake up to one or both of them being widowed in the line of duty.”

“I don’t know,” Tom said, a little wistfully. “I’m sure you’ve seen how Adrien and Ladybug look at each other.”

_Oh, I’ve seen._

“And as happy as being with Adrien is going to make Marinette, once they finally stop kidding themselves, part of me is charmed by the idea of making biscuits with my son-in-law. He only gets to learn how to make the family brioche one way, and that’s by joining the family. Maybe we could track down their parents and invite them over, and all of us just discuss it?”

“This is a mess,” Gabriel said, not only referring to his ruined clothing. “Forgive me while I clean myself up, I will return shortly.”

It would be worth his time to stop by his office, first, though. It was time for Papa Garou to go hunting.

 

* * *

 

The castle turned out to have as stupidly little security as the hotel. Even better, it was under construction, which meant that the OH-KAY Plumbing and Heating van was able to slip in unnoticed. Cutting the Tyvek along the side of the house exposed a studio under construction, with mannequins, bolts of fabric, and a massive flat-screen TV mounted into the wall that instantly caught Marv’s eye.

“Whatever happened to the good old days when we could just unplug these and walk away with them,” he groused, running his fingers along the seam where the TV met drywall. “We’re going to need to knock out this wall, and probably unhook some stuff and track down all the cords, too. That means noise, and that means waiting for the guy who lives here to leave. And word on the street is he’s a shut-in.”

“Don’t fixate on electronics,” Harry said. “They have serial numbers. This whole city, the capital of a major European country, might only have one cop, but that’s a mystery even he can solve. We’re looking for stuff we can offload easy, or are valuable enough to be worth taking to private auction.  That TV is big enough we’d have to strap it to the top of the van, and we’re good at this, but we’re not that good.”

Marv turned away from the TV with naked hunger and visible regret.

“We could have kept it.”

“We’re here for the money. We find stuff we can sell, we take it, we leave.”

The next room over was clearly a teenage boy’s bedroom. They rejected the arcade machines and foosball table as too hard to transport, the DVD collection as too time-consuming to sort for which titles were worth money, the trophies as probably not real gold, and the computer for having serial numbers. The closet had a truly unnecessary quantity of the exact same designer clothes. All of them smelled kinda like cheese, though, so they decided only to come back to them as a last resort.

Marv was briefly excited when they discovered a honest-to-God vault in the entertainment center, and spent an excited few moments picking the lock- to discover it was the source of the cheese smell.

“If this stupid family turns out to be too rich to rob-”

“Don’t write them off yet, Marv,” Harry said, “Let’s go check the offices.”

They snuck down the abandoned hall. Briefly, they passed a gigantic gorilla of a man having a tea party with a woman in a suit, hair pulled back in an austere bun, and a teenage girl with bright pink pigtails in coveralls, but they successfully moved to the offices unnoticed.

“Here we go!” Marv crowed, assessing the gigantic, modern space. It, too, was full of absurdly large, expensive-looking technology, but the art looked like it belonged in the Louvre and was most definitely worth that private auction they had been considering. It was all contemporary celebrities, too. There were easily two dozen gigantic portraits of youth icon Adrien Agreste done in various styles, but the place of honor was reserved for a floor to ceiling portrait of his mother, A-list actress Emilie Agreste in a style clearly modeled after Gustav Klimt.

“Man, I hope this is the Agreste family home,” Harry said, hefting a marble bust of Adrien experimentally. “Anywhere else, and this many pictures of the same two people has officially crossed the threshold from stalker to probable serial killer. It’s creepy as hell, is what it is.”

“It doesn’t really look like family snapshots,” Marv said. “Almost like these two people themselves are the art the owner is trying to display. I know the boy has been seen out in public recently, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find the woman chained up in the basement or something.”

Harry thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “The art quality is good enough for both mom and son that it doesn’t really matter, any one of these pieces would fully fund our trip to Paris. Let’s load them up.”

“Where do you want to start?”

He stared at the floor to ceiling portrait of Emilie, then took out his X-Acto knife, and began to cut the portrait from its frame.

“Hey, it looks like there’s a safe back here!”

“Bingo! The thing about safes, everything in them is small, portable, and extremely valuable. Let’s see what’s inside, Marv-”

Harry turned, where Marv was staring at a vengeful ghost. Or perhaps the serial killer, if his expression and the bright red blood stains across his cream suit were any indication.

“Who are you,” the man breathed, “What are you doing in my home, how did you know where to go, how _dare_ you try to rob _me_ , how _dare_ you touch her-”

“Look, mister,” Harry said, pulling out a small pistol. They were Americans, after all. His voice wavered, but his gun hand did not. “Why don’t you just back away slowly and without any fuss, and pretend you never saw us, eh? We don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know you don’t,” the serial killer said, softly, as a butterfly fluttered in through the open window and alighted on his shoulder. “Unfortunately for you, the sentiment is not at all mutual.”

 

* * *

 

Every convention Marinette had ever been to left her exhausted on a bone-deep level. Multiple- Akumas- in- a- row- with- no- recovery- time exhausted. Christmas- Eve- and- she- just- found- out- she- needs- to- make- a- last- minute- gift exhausted. Finals- week- during- peak- season- at- the- bakery exhausted. And having Chloé insist on keeping both her and Adrien in her line of sight at all times had been wearing on Marinette’s last nerve.

So she kicked off her flats at the door of her hotel room, and peeled off her blazer. Out of pure habit, she assessed the amenities of the hotel room that she would probably be too busy to use for the rest of the weekend, but might be able to squeeze out some time for tonight before the jet lag truly set in. The jacuzzi was a nice touch- she could get used to Bourgeois money. And the bath bombs looked truly tempting.

Smiling to herself, she locked the door to the hall, and threw the security chain. She knew that the doors between rooms at hotels were typically locked by the cleaning staff, but she checked just in case-

-only to discover that the bolt that threw the lock was stuck.

It wouldn’t even turn.

_Oh, no._

She could actually feel her heart rate speeding up, as she did the mental math, praying it was Mrs. Bourgeois on the other side. Hell, she would even have taken Chloé, who, mistaken as her instinct was, was trying to watch out for her. But no amount of willful thinking would have made anyone but Adrien be staying on the other side of the door.

_I should say something._

Marinette went to the bathroom for her bubble bath in her clothes, and took her pajamas in with her for when she was done. Tikki wasn’t here right now to help her not make Bad Decisions.

The door to the bathroom, blessedly, locked.

 

* * *

 

Nathalie had been extremely clear on basic safety precautions for celebrities staying in strange hotel rooms, a process that would have been cool if it hadn’t underscored the terrifying level of risk he faced for having his privacy violated every time he stayed somewhere unfamiliar. It was harder to take these precautions without a Kwami to assist, but Adrien managed.

He started by placing his fingernail against each mirror in the room that was directly installed into the wall. There was a gap between the nail and its image; none of the mirrors were two-way.

He then called his father, and put the call on speakerphone. It went to voicemail, of course, and it wasn’t just because it was 4 AM Paris time. He used the open line to walk around the room and listen for electric interference; there was none. No electronic devices.

He checked every smoke detector, wall and ceiling light fitting, ceiling tile, clock, and lamp, by eyesight as well as touch. No hidden cameras.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he locked the door to the hall, then left a pillow propped up against the crack.

Finally, he went to lock the door connecting to the next room over- only to find that the latch wouldn’t close.

_Oh, hell._

The good news was, it was Marinette’s room.

The bad news was, it was MARINETTE’S room.

Adrien stared at the door for longer than he cared to admit to himself. She wouldn’t try the door unless she needed to, right? And she would probably knock first. It was fine. He should let her know. He had trusted her with his life on more occasions than anyone but Alya could probably quote off the top of their heads. He could trust her with a door.

He wanted to knock.

_Marinette is on the other side of that door._

Oh, Plagg would have had a field day with this.

... Plagg never needed to know.

 _... Marinette_ never needed to know.

Sighing, he took the pillows and blankets from the bed, and made himself a makeshift sleeping bag next to the door.

_She’s RIGHT THERE._

The door stayed closed.

 

* * *

 

The bath smelled amazing, the jacuzzi was great on her airplane-exhausted muscles, and just not having to worry about getting interrupted by an Akuma was a wonderful change of pace. But the experience, as a whole, was not as relaxing as Marinette would have hoped.

 _He’s seen me in my pajamas before. Heck, we practically_ **_cuddled_ ** _in my pajamas before. This is not new territory. This is fine. I should say something._

_Hello, stuttering-again Marinette. I was wondering when you would show up again._

Shaking, she went to the bed, and buried herself in a sandwich of pillows and pure white comforters. And despite being awake for approaching twenty-two hours now, and an exhaustion borne of traveling and then the first official day of her career, she could not bring herself to sleep.

_I should say something._

_I have enough courage that I can face down a superpowered terrorist on a daily basis, but I don’t even know how to begin that conversation._

_He’s RIGHT THERE_ _._

She stared at the door through the darkness, and then gave up. Silently, she picked up a pillow and throw blanket, and built herself a tiny fort next to the door.

_It’s not like anyone ever needs to know._

 

* * *

 

Neither of them slept well that night.

They really should have.


	4. Saturday (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> Art by [Orangebunnit](https://orangebunnit.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  

Hawkmoth was excited for these two.

They had to be the very height of cunning and stealth to have progressed so far into his home, and come so close to the biggest heist since Tibet. Who were they? Interpol? MI6? The CIA? The IMF? Danny Ocean’s men?

WHO ARE YOU, he asked, as the magic bubbled over them, YOU GORGEOUS, STEALTHY, DISCERNING, CUNNING, RUTHLESS HUNTERS. WHAT’S YOUR NAME?

A sickly green tentacle hit the marble floor with a wet thwack, then dragged back into the bubbling black mass. It left a revolting gray oil slick, that sizzled on contact with the polished floor, eating pock-marks into it.

Their voices sounded like something was chewing with their mouth open. “We’re the Wet Bandits,” they squelched in tandem. Still bubbling, they dragging themselves toward the window, which they smashed to allow themselves out.

DARK WINGS, FALL, Hawkmoth commanded.

Nooroo’s eyes followed the acid-burned trail to the window. “Master? Maybe you should call back that butterfly.”

Gabriel Agreste cleared his throat, trying to process the stench and quell his rising bile. “Maybe a little avarice is what we need, to finally end this,” he said, as much for his own sake as for Nooroo’s, then went to go change.

By the time he had made his way back to the table, he had lost his appetite.

 

* * *

 

“It’s not my fault,” Plagg whined, as Wayzz dusted the apartment for the third time that morning. “Stuff turns into dust, as it decomposes.”

“And it gets smelly,” Tikki said reproachfully.

Plagg sniffed. “Fragrant.”

“Flowers are fragrant. Fruit is fragrant. Everything in the fridge has rotted.”

Wayzz’s antenna bobbed forward as his eyes flattened in annoyance. “My Shellter has stopped the Miracle Box from rusting, _and Master Fu from aging_ , and that’s a very good thing. But you could put a little more effort into controlling yourself, at least until Ladybug comes back to give a Miraculous Cure.”

Tikki sighed. “If you’d just let me-”

“NO,” Plagg and Wayzz said, at once, waking Master Fu. He noticed the dome of lime green hexagons, and his eyes darted around until he saw the conversing Kwamis. Plagg smiled and waved sheepishly.

“You can drop the Shell, Wayzz,” Master Fu called.

“With all due respect, Master, no,” Wayzz responded. “Not until we can mitigate Plagg’s Destruction. Your pipes are corroded, your clothes are threadbare, the paint is peeling, and I’m not going to let him give you osteoporosis or arthritis until Ladybug and Chat Noir come back to fix it.”

“It’s just fifteen or so years of normal destruction,” Plagg sniffed. “I don’t know what everyone is getting all bent out of shape about.”

“Our _chosen_ are less than fifteen years old,” Tikki retorted. “Fifteen years is a long time for humans. Control your powers, Plagg, I don’t know what’s so hard about it.”

An invisible crochet hook snuck a half inch of yarn under the closed window, then made a loop. Over, around, and through, then pulled tight to make a stitch. Then another. Then the next.

Wayzz saw it first, and screamed. “Master, an Akuma!”

Master Fu lunged for the Gramophone, bringing it to the opposite side of the Shellter. “How did it find us?” he asked fearfully.

The Kwamis flew to the window to investigate. “I don’t think it did,” Wayzz said, as the stitches continued to creep under the window latch and form a pretty lace doormat. “It appears to be taking over all of Paris.”

“Another area of effect Akuma,” Master Fu sighed. “Hawkmoth must know that it is spring break. Maybe he thinks Ladybug and Chat Noir are likely to be sleeping in since they’re teenagers. This Akuma is sneaky and quiet. I am not sure of its strategy, but I do not like that it has not announced itself.”

“Akumas do not always have strategies,” Wayzz said. “Sometimes they are simply strange.”

“Regardless,” Master Fu said, “We cannot allow Hawkmoth to know that Ladybug and Chat Noir are unavailable to address this threat. I must find a hero immediately.”

Ancient fingers flew surprisingly quickly across a secret combination of buttons, opening the Gramophone to expose the Miracle Box. Master Fu opened it and selected a pendant with a persimmon fox tail.

“Trixx can’t purify an Akuma,” Wayzz objected.

Master Fu looked at Tikki and Plagg and gave them a very stern look. “I am going to go get a hero,” he told them. “He is going to bring the Akuma to Collège Françoise Dupont, where he will find you. You will _stay out of sight._ Plagg will Cataclysm the infected object _and only_ that object, Tikki will purify the butterfly _and only_ that butterfly, and Trixx is going to make an illusion that everything is _normal_ until Ladybug and Chat Noir return to truly repair the damage. In the meantime, you two must _remain here_ where Hawkmoth has—as of yet—never found us, and stay very far away from anything that looks rather more cuddly and warm than it did on Thursday. Am I understood?”

A crack that had been spidering its way across the drywall ceiling finally connected, with a slight shower of dust falling on all of their heads. Master Fu, distracted, sighed, then bundled the rest of the Miracle Box with him as well.

“Thank goodness Chat Noir comes from money, because if I lose my security deposit over this, he’s reimbursing it,” he muttered. “Wayzz, let’s go.”

It wasn’t until after they left that Plagg spoke. “Were you just not going to tell him about the crocheting you did to reinforce Chloé’s suitcase?”

“It’s pretty,” Tikki pouted.

“That refrigerator is fragrant,” Plagg said, mimicking Tikki’s voice. “It’s art.”

 

* * *

 

Principal Damocles woke up on Saturday morning to a beautiful, violently colored paisley crochet blanket he had not remembered placing on his bed.

More accurately, he woke up in a paisley onesie that was attached to the blanket, that wrapped around the legs of his bed like a cozy, before snaking across his floor in a plush, warm carpet. Outside his window, the crochet work wrapped around everything in sight, like someone's grandmother had decided to test the limits on "yarn stash acquisition beyond life expectancy" and not realized she was, in fact, immortal.

“It must be an Akuma!” he cried, taking a small pair of scissors from their psychedelic new sheath, and snipping himself free. He slid his feet into his new, felted slippers and ran to the closet to change. Brown pants, brown sweater vest, brown boots- incognito enough that it wasn’t immediately obvious he was suiting up, but easy enough to put on a mask and arm himself.

He admired his reflection in the mirror with pride. “It is now the hour,” he said, beginning to pose dramatically, then hesitated. “Of Principal Damocles, responsible member of the community, to do his background research!”

 

* * *

 

Adrien had been exhausted enough to sleep in until 10 AM Paris time, which was about the latest his biological clock would allow him. Unfortunately, that was 4 AM Eastern Standard, the alarm clock on the neglected bedside table informed him cheerfully. He would have to do his weapons-grade schmoozing and networking for Marinette on five hours of fitful floor sleep.

He stared at the door

_the UNLOCKED door_

trying to parse the jumble of emotions it was invoking. Something at his core was pulling him closer to it, as if his very being was craving to be as close to his Lady as he could without overstepping the clearly defined boundaries that had been communicated to him.

He could open that door.

She was there, and she loved him... and the door was unlocked.

 _This is so much worse than Lady WiFi_ , Adrien thought to himself.

Chat Noir wasn’t helping. _I’d wake you up with cuddles,_ he reminded Adrien traitorously.

 _Once we’re married,_ Adrien thought back, annoyed with Chat. _Or at least once I have clearly communicated permission. Interest in general isn’t good enough._

Chat Noir grinned and gave him a mental image of the top of Marinette’s head, and her arm draped across his chest, her tiny, warm puffs of breath on his shoulder, the flutter of her eyelashes dancing butterfly kisses across his skin as she dreamed…

 _Should I tell you what’s going on below the shoulders?_ Chat asked, waggling his eyebrows. _I bet she’d like cuddling you, too._

Standing up from where he was snuggled against the _unlocked_ door took enormous effort, as if he was fighting gravity itself, or perhaps a very strong magnet.

_I bet she’s an amazing little spoon._

Tearing his eyes away from the door was a completely separate fight.

_We’re not going to wake her up-_

_-with cuddles,_ Chat reminded him, smirking-

 _-until we’re told we can,_ Adrien said, powering through. _We’re certainly going to make her breakfast and write her the love notes I talked about. But first, we are going to have a very long, very cold shower, that will last until you can calm down._

 

* * *

 

The Owl had made a promise to Ladybug and Chat Noir that he would be a safe hero. His students looked up to him, after all; it was very important that he only do heroic activities that he was 100% sure were safe and that he would feel comfortable seeing any of his students without Miraculouses do. Once he got the Owl Miraculous, of course, all bets would be off—Queen Bee did all sorts of things that were not safe for anyone—but it was a fair compromise.

So, to fill the time until he got the Owl Miraculous, he volunteered in the community like Ivan and Mylene. He trained, like Kim. He upgraded his technology like Max, borrowing heavily from Markov’s software to modify Owlbert. And, whenever his responsibilities to the school allowed him, he submitted Akuma sightings to the Ladyblog,like Alya.

This last was especially exciting during spring break, with Alya and Nino off overseas for the Marshall College internship with fedora-wearing, bullwhip-toting Dr. Jones. Community tips were going to be the only way to document the Akuma, who had not yet been sighted, but had been gradually blanketing the city using an invisible crochet hook... with no heroes in sight.

After a bit of research, Principal Damocles had located Ground Zero, which was clearly Le Grand Paris. Chloé had an alibi this time, but enough celebrities had taken up semipermanent residence at the hotel that any of them could have triggered it. The entire building was covered in a crocheted cozy. It must have been uncharacteristically considerate, because it had left openings for the doors and windows, allowing a very confused André Bourgeois to step outside and direct an even more confused Butler Jean to cut it down, to no avail.

The blanket of warm wool spread outwards from the hotel, snaking up every tree, lamp-post and building along the way, swallowing cars, pushing its way up buildings, and thoroughly confusing pedestrians.

“I don’t understand how it’s supposed to try to get the Miraculouses for Hawkmoth,” Mr. Ramier was telling Officer Raincomprix. Both men were wearing striped woolen socks that covered not only their shoes, but reached over their pants to their knees, and were continuing upwards. “Not only does every one of my pigeons have a cozy little sweater, but their nests are felted securely to the trees. They’re not going to lose a single egg today. But there’s been no fight, we haven’t even seen the Akuma, and I don’t get its strategy.”

“I still don’t trust it,” Officer Raincomprix said, failing to peel the fuzzy socks off his legs. “These may be extremely comfortable now, but I remember Ragyo Kiryuin’s visit to Style Queen Paris, and I really don’t want to deal with Life Fibers again.”

“What do we know about the Akuma so far?” Principal Damocles asked, taking out his phone and activating Owlbert’s audio recording feature.

“We’re tentatively calling them the Yarnibomber,” Officer Raincomprix said, then frowned. “But maybe we should leave it to Ladybug and Chat Noir. A Cataclysm would probably clear everything right up, and a Miraculous Cure sure would. It’s important that we not interfere unless we absolutely have to.”

“There are plenty of times people without Miraculouses have saved Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Principal Damocles said, hurt. Officer Raincomprix didn’t have to call him Paris’s Biggest Loser, the way that Alec had; it hung in the air, unspoken.

“But we haven’t seen either of them yet,” Officer Raincomprix said, “and they typically don’t like when we get started without them, because it takes options off the table for them later.”

“Do you think they’re all right?” Mr. Ramier asked.

“They’re probably just sleeping in,” Mr. Ramier said. “They’re teenagers, they work hard and deserve a break.”

“Well, then who’s going to save Paris?” Officer Raincomprix said, exasperated.

“Who, indeed,” Principal Damocles said, thoughtfully. “Who? Who?”

Mr. Ramier looked at Principal Damocles, worried, yet said nothing.

 

* * *

 

Marinette woke up to her alarm, after being able to sleep in until 1 PM Paris time, which would have been enough sleep if she had been able to focus on anything at all except that closed

_unlocked_

door, for the entire night.

 _I’d wake you up with cuddles,_ Adrien had promised her. She was hearing it in Chat Noir’s purr, and it was lighting a fire in her and making it very, very difficult to think about anything else.

 _Why wait?_ asked the obsessive corner of Marinette’s brain that had memorized Adrien’s schedule, stolen his phone, and stared radiantly, carefree, dreamily at his ads for literal hours. But she was Ladybug, and had withstood a constant state of tension for over a year—from being on guard for an Akuma attack from any direction and at any moment—and she would be damned if she would let a door break her.

 _An unlocked door that led to a certain blond boy,_ Marinette reminded Ladybug helpfully.

A boy who loved her so much, it terrified her.

A boy who had been loving her with his words and deeds; directly in their suits, subtly in their daily lives.

A boy who had been consistently, relentlessly kind, in every way he knew how.

A boy who had been very, very careful to never _ever_ cross a physical boundary she had laid down, but made it abundantly clear that, when it came to her, they had _miles_ to go before his boundaries even appeared on the horizon.

...when it came to _only_ her, she realized.

 _I rest my case_ , Marinette’s mental image of Alya said, smug.

Marinette of a month ago, knowing exactly Marinette of present day’s tastes, started filling in a mental image that was equal parts Adrien, Chat Noir, and a pose from one of the steamier _Gabriel_ fragrance ads.

 _NO MORE PEDESTALS_ , Ladybug told Marinette in a voice that had stared down Hawkmoth; and by God, she could use it to stare down herself. _You are SO DONE with treating him like an idol instead of a person._ Haughtily, Ladybug-Marinette scooped up her blankets and pillows to destroy the evidence of her temptation.

As she lifted her pillow, she noticed that he’d slid a note under the door.

Her entire existence dropped away, her attention zeroing in on that note.

She stared at it, for several long minutes, before poking it with her foot. It was nudged slightly across the carpet, behaving very much like a note and not at all like a grenade without its pin.

 _This is it,_ Marinette thought, _This is how I get Akumatized. Not by thrilling heroics; not by standing up to a bully or watching my loved ones in danger. This is the object Adrien is going to have to tear up to release that butterfly that is arriving at any moment. And then—without Tikki here to purify it—the entire continent is going to be overrun by fourteen year old girls with crushes they don’t know how to process._

 _Stop being afraid of it, then,_ Ladybug soothed. _Just pick it up and read it._

Ladybug was Marinette’s hero, too, so she trusted her, and bent down to retrieve it. Hands shaking, she unfolded the hotel stationery.

_I know we’re not married yet, but I love you, and I’m ready to deliver on as many as I can of those promises I made to you yesterday. Let yourself in whenever you like. I’ve been up for hours, and thinking about you the whole time._

Marinette’s brain short-circuited.

Her mental image of Alix skated up, and, deadpan, threw a handful of rose petals on her.

 

* * *

 

The Wet Bandits laughed like a suction cup popping off of a greasy glass surface. “This is amazing,” the left head said, touching the bulletproof glass of another jewelry store. The acid on their tentacle burned through it and set off the security alarm, but they didn’t care. They had seen their reflection in the first one, and nobody was going to stop them when they couldn’t even look at them without tasting their lunches a second time. “We should have come to Paris a long time ago.”

“He looked like he was going to kill us,” the right head said. “You shouldn’t have pulled the gun if you weren’t ready to use it.”

“I was ready to use it, all right!” the left head snapped, biting at the right one. “But this is better. We’ve already picked up hundreds of millions of euros in diamonds, this is our single best haul ever.”

“Yeah, but we look like this!” bemoaned the right. “What good is it, if nobody can even look at us long enough for us to sell it?”

The left head strained its unnaturally long neck to look at the right, through eyeballs couched behind razor-sharp petals of teeth, most of which were a rotted yellow color, but one of which shone a brilliant gold. “Marv, buddy,” it said, “You were never really one to look at.”

A fluorescent purple signature flickered across the edges of their outer teeth, as if unwilling to enter either of their mouths to flash over their eyes. It contrasted with the single gold tooth dramatically. THE MIRACULOUSES, it said. I HAVE MADE YOU WEALTHY BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS. FIND LADYBUG AND CHAT NOIR, AND BRING ME THEIR MIRACULOUSES.

“Or what?” the left head sneered, reveling in the voice’s revulsion. The speaker hated interacting with them, and the left head loved it.

Until the speaker took each head by the neck, and began to pull them apart from each other.

DO IT TOGETHER OR DO IT APART, it commanded, BUT I CANNOT SEND A BUTTERFLY FOR EACH OF YOU. DO NOT FORCE ME TO DIVIDE AND CONQUER.

“Okay, okay, uncle!” the right head gasped, and the speaker released them. It cricked its neck, and flexed each of its mouth’s carnivorous petals. “We’ll find your stupid Miraculouses. Any idea where to look?”

The Wet Bandits felt a pull towards a nearby school, implausibly large compared to the surrounding buildings.

START THERE.

A wicked smile spread across the right head's far too many teeth, making the gold one glint. “That’s the one," it said. "I bet it’s got lots of top-flight goods. Stereos, computers toys, and I  _bet_ it has some _very_ fine jewelry.”

* * *

 

“The beautiful thing about having the house all to yourself,” Plagg said happily, as he rummaged around in Master Fu’s fridge, “is that there’s absolutely nobody to tell you not to make yourself a fondue bath in the microwave.”

“Don’t make yourself a fondue bath in the microwave, Plagg,” Tikki said, not looking up from the drywall she was generating to repair the cracking ceiling. “It already smells like something died in here, you don’t have to make the neighbors think something died and then was allowed to rot in the heat for several years.”

“You’re not the boss of me!” Plagg pouted. “I’m going to melt this cheese, and then I’m going to _jump in_ this cheese, and then I’m going to _EAT_ this cheese, and then when I’m nice and gooey I’m going to  ** _SLOWLY_** lick myself clean over the course of several days. I’m going to smell like expensive dairy products for a very long time! _You_ can’t stop me, and neither Adrien _nor_ Master Fu are here.”

“Plagg, we can talk about this later,” Tikki said, suddenly much more concerned. “We have bigger problems right now.”

“I’m not going to get another chance, though,” Plagg whined, setting out Master Fu’s nicest cast iron teacup and poking his head out of the kitchen to check on Tikki. “What could possibly be more important than this?!?”

Tikki gestured out the window at the moist, sticky Akuma that was leaching their way across the pavement, releasing a smell of burning petroleum wherever it interacted with her beautiful crochet work. “Did Master Fu give you any clue where he was going to look for his hero? Because we have to go find him, right now.”

Plagg washed his face, then shook his head. “In what weird alternative universe am I the voice of reason?” he complained. “Master Fu left us very clear instructions. He gets a temporary Hero, they lure the Akuma to the school and defeat it, we do our thing. I don’t see a hero yet, so Master Fu expects us to be here, and he was very clear that we’re not supposed to actually fight until the kids are back. This is a vacation and I demand my spa day.”

“Okay,” Tikki said, “You fon _due_ your own thing. I’m going to go make sure that dangerous-looking Akuma doesn’t hurt anybody, or get Master Fu and the Miracle Box. I’m the Ladybug and it’s my responsibility.”

“Fine,” Plagg sniffed. “Get yourself kidnapped by Hawkmoth. I wouldn’t have thought you wanted to play damsel in distress.”

“I wouldn’t have thought I’d see the day you weren’t there to back me up,” Tikki said, her voice edged with pain.  In fourteen billion years, Plagg had never seen her eyes so big and shiny with tears.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” he exclaimed. “I know your tricks! You’re not getting me that easy.”

“Goodbye, Plagg,” Tikki said. “Have a nice date with your cheese.”

“My cheese doesn’t emotionally manipulate me!” Plagg yelled at Tikki, who phased through the wall after the Akuma.

He sniffed, and turned back to the kitchen. “Fine,” he huffed, and opened the microwave. He lifted the cast iron teacup into it, then retrieved his cheese from the refrigerator, and lovingly unwrapped it and set it into the teacup. “I’ll see you soon, my creamy, gooey, beauty,” he murmured, then closed the door of the microwave and turned it on. The internal light turned on, and the dish on the inside began to turn, evenly heating the teacup and melting the cheese inside.

Plagg’s beautiful, innocent cheese began to smoke.

“What-” he said, in horror, as the microwave began to fill up with smoke. The beautiful smell of his cheese took a decidedly brimstone, rotten-egg turn for the worse. From within the microwave, something began to spark and crackle, and a low moan began to shake the walls.

Plagg backed up as far away from the microwave as he could without phasing backwards through the kitchen.

“Oh, shut up, you!” he shouted. “I’m respecting her choices! Tikki is ridiculously powerful and can beat any Akuma at all without even trying hard, if she lets loose! Master Fu wants me to stay here! _I don’t need your opinions on my love life, Cheelzebub!_ ”

The microwave popped, dislodging itself slightly from where it was mounted above the stove, and Plagg shrieked.

“I love you, Tikki! I’m sorry! I’m coming to save you!” he said, hysterical, as he phased after her.

In the abandoned kitchen, the unattended cast iron teacup in the microwave caught fire.


	5. Saturday (part 2)

Chloe scowled at Adrien introducing Marinette around like his new bride. _Not dating,_ she sulked. _You’re fooling absolutely no one._

She looked down at the note she had swiped from Marinette’s bag while they talked to Dennis Nylon.

_I know we’re not married yet, but I love you, and I’m ready to deliver on as many as I can of those promises I made to you yesterday. Let yourself in whenever you like._

She rolled her eyes. If she had passed a note like this to Sabrina, not even her oblivious father would have believed their excuses. Straight people sucked at being closeted.

 

* * *

 

 The Wet Bandits squelched through the halls of College Dupont, smashing every locker door open and rifling through the contents. Books, binders, sports gear, photos, nothing even slightly valuable; if not for the voice in their heads urging them forward, they would have abandoned the project for something more lucrative.

“Eeenie,” said the head on the right, smashing open another locker door. Fencing gear.

“They’re not here, boss,” said the head on the left. “We’re robbing a bunch of kids, and unless someone left their super-secret diary confessing to being Ladybug in one of these lockers, it’s a dead end.”

THE HEROES SHOW UP WHEN THE AKUMA WREAKS SOME MAYHEM. SO FAR, YOU’VE DONE NOTHING BUT CROCHET SOMETHING WITH 1970s AESTHETIC AND 1990s COLORS. IT’S APPALLING. IF ANYTHING, I SHOULD THINK YOU WERE ATTACKING _ME._

“Meanie.” Cut-outs of some diplomat from Achu, with pink hearts drawn around him, and glitter.

“You’ve been yapping at us this whole time, you know we’ve been too busy to sit in an easy chair somewhere with a sweet tea and a crochet hook. Shut up about that stupid yarn.”

WELL, YOU’RE THE ONLY AKUMA, AND IT’S CLEARLY SUPERNATURAL. THE ONLY SOLUTION IS THAT YOU’RE DOING IT UNCONSCIOUSLY. CAN’T YOU USE IT TO SENSE WHERE THE HEROES ARE, OR SOMETHING?

The two heads strained to look at each other. They had been friends for long enough to recognize that the voice in their heads was clearly knitting with only one needle, without saying it; it also had some anger management issues. Complete the job, get the hell out of town.

“Miney.” Promotional materials from a contest to be a teenage weather girl.

IT’S NOT THAT HARD. YOU’RE ONLY THE SECOND AKUMA, OUT OF HUNDREDS, THAT THE HEROES HAVEN’T IMMEDIATELY COME RUNNING TO FIGHT. ARE YOU NOT THREATENING ENOUGH? DO YOU NEED TO GO THREATEN SOME CIVILIANS OR SOMETHING? YOU HAVE ONE JOB. DO I REALLY HAVE TO DO IT FOR YOU?

“Moe.” A cute little plastic robot, like something out of a Pixar movie.

“Larry,” the head on the right said, slamming open another locker. A skateboard, roller skates, and leftovers from probably several months ago.

“Curly.”

 

* * *

 

The Akuma continued slamming lockers open, throwing the contents onto the floor, as the robot took care not to change his screen. _That’s an Akuma! I have to put an alert on the Ladyblog right now._ Per protocol, it also synced its consciousness to the Cloud, updating Max.

 

* * *

 

Across the school, Owlbert cleared its digital throat.

“What is it, Owlbert?” Principal Damocles asked, excited. “Do we know anything about The Yarnibomber?”

“We do, sir,” Owlbert responded, hesitantly, “and if the Lucky Charm sends Ladybug a pair of sharp scissors, she’s going to need an even sharper mind figuring out how to defeat it. Markov has sent us an update, and this thing looks very threatening.”

 

* * *

 

The Wet Bandit squelched along the upper balcony, heading for the Principal’s office.

“There’s someone in there,” Tikki said, horrified. She racked her brain for something she could Create and use, something that could protect them while also keeping them out of sight. She concentrated, and sent the person in that room something to defend himself. _I’m sorry, Master Fu,_ she thought, as she heard it hit the ground of the closed room. _We can’t wait for Volpino._

From beyond the closed door, Principal Damocles fell out of his chair in surprise. “That looks like a LUCKY CHARM!”

The Akuma whipped its heads around to stare at the Principal’s office, and then began to rush it in earnest. Tentacle over tentacle, trailing acidic slime along the way.

“You’ve really put your foot in it now,” said Plagg, zooming past her and heading for the balcony.

“Glad you could make it!” Tikki shouted at him as he flew past. “How was your date with your cheese?”

“I’d rather not talk about it!” Plagg called back. He touched a tiny paw to the ground above him and called for a Cataclysm just as Principal Damocles opened the door.

Balcony and Akuma went tumbling down to the gymnasium floor underneath, and Tikki hid. She knew that Plagg was immortal and could not be injured by falling debris, but that didn’t stop her from being afraid for him anyway.

“First the LUCKY CHARM! Now, that looks like a CATACLYSM!”

Oh, they were in so much trouble.

 

* * *

 

Hawkmoth stared at the wreckage in shock. The butterfly still maintained connection, which meant that the Akuma was still alive, but that was a much stronger Cataclysm than any he had seen Chat Noir use, and that Lucky Charm had looked lethal.

“Sir?” Nathalie asked, subdued.

WE ARE TOO LATE, he said. SOMEONE HAS ALREADY STOLEN THE MIRACULOUSES.

She took a moment to process this.

“So,” she finally asked, “Are we going to steal them from the thief?”

Across the psychic link, the Akuma groaned.

FALL BACK, Hawkmoth commanded it. WE WILL REGROUP AND TRY AGAIN TOMORROW.

 

* * *

 

 “It would be my honor to serve Paris once again in its hour of need,” Louis said, walking with Master Fu back to his apartment. “Ladybug and Chat Noir should enjoy themselves. They are young, and fighting every Akuma must be exhausting. They deserve a vacation. Did you not mention to me at some point that Trixx’s new Chosen’s cousin has a spa? I’m certain that I took _mi amore_ there back in 2017, although perhaps it may be more of a revealing reveal than they are prepared to face just yet...”

Master Fu face-palmed. “A vacation would have been fine, but my young fox, it is one thing to skip a class to fight an Akuma when you are a student. It is much more difficult to suddenly excuse yourself while attempting to give a lecture to a class of one hundred and fifty students. You’re retired for now for a reason.”

Louis shrugged and grinned, “So I developed a short-term illness. Paris can survive without one of its History TAs far better than it can survive a weekend with a rampaging-

The smile fell from his face, as they rounded the corner to see the raging fire where Master Fu’s apartment used to be. Apparently, the sirens were not there for the Yarnibomber. Emergency services connected long hoses to fire hydrants, which sprayed what appeared to be the entire Seine onto the inferno, but it only served to spread the flames to the surrounding buildings.

Louis swore under his breath. “Your friends from Tibet, do you think?”

“I am not sure,” Master Fu said, “but perhaps it is best if we lay low until we have investigated further.”

Louis pulled Master Fu into an alley, and transformed. With a quiet _Fox Populi,_ they were able to slip by the crowd, unnoticed.

They did, however, spend a few moments listening to Nadja Chamack’s coverage of the newest Akuma- the Plasterer of Paris.

 

* * *

 

“The _Plasterer of Paris?”_ Plagg said, shocked, as Markov showed them the coverage from TVi. “You’re better at this than Nooroo is, Sugar Cube, and that’s what he _does_.”

Tikki whined slightly. “I’m doing asbestos I can.”

“This is getting out of hand,” Markov said. “Would you like for me to notify your wielders?”

“Yes,” Plagg said.

“No!” Tikki cried. “If you do that, Max and anyone who hacks your software will know who they are.”

“Well, we can’t just let it come back for Principal Damocles again,” Markov worried. “Owlbert has been monitoring his progress. He’s not as likely to hurt someone, or himself, as he was when he first started being The Owl. We need a hero.”

Tikki and Plagg looked at each other, then back at Markov.

 

* * *

 

The screen of Principal Damocles’s desktop flickered, and was replaced by the insignia of a ladybug.

“What’s happening?” he said, staring at it.

Behind him, the secret wall behind his desk raised.

“Hello, Owl,” said Owlbert’s voice. “We have received a message from Ladybug. An Akuma invaded the school today, and we must prepare for its return. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Ladybug,” he breathed, but then paused. “But where is my Miraculous?”

 

* * *

 

Marinette was in her pajamas and toweling her hair  dry after her bath, when she heard the knock on her door.

“Hey, bug?” He sounded close, but the door was closed and she couldn’t be sure.

“What’s going on?” she asked, approaching the door.

She could hear his sigh, as if he’d had his back pressed against the door. “This is embarrassing-”

“I’ve literally played with a laser pointer with you. You spent an international trip to the Royal Wedding finding a specifically French brand of constipation pills for me. You still get embarrassed?”

“...never mind. It’s nothing.”

She put her slippers on, and walked over to the door. “You and me against the world, right? I will _never_ judge you. Okay, I might, but it will just make me love you more.”

His response was muffled by the door, so she put her head against it. “It’s okay,” she said, the way Tikki had told her so many times before.

“I’m lonely,” he said, in a rush, and she could feel the secondhand embarrassment as if it was her own. “Plagg isn’t exactly nurturing, but I haven’t slept alone since the school year began and he _purrs_ and it’s soothing and I’m trying to focus on the mini fridge running but my brain is so used to Hawkmoth that part of me wonders if _I’m going to have to go catch it_ -”

 _No_ , her brain said, as she put her hand on the doorknob. _You won’t be able to stop._

She twisted the doorknob, then opened it just a crack.

He gasped, and stopped talking.

“It’s lonely, without Tikki, too,” she said. “Maybe we can keep the door open?”

For a long pause, neither of them spoke.

“You’re sure?” he finally asked.

“It’s just a door,” she lied. Conjoining rooms were now one room with two beds and she was not at all going to be able to get to sleep tonight and this was a HUGE DEAL but Adrien never needed to know that, so if he needed it to just be a door, it was just a door.

“We can’t go back from this,” he said. “Or, we can try, and I love you and promise I’ll respect your boundaries, but emotionally, this means something to me. This is a huge expression of trust.”

“We were already here,” she said, for her own benefit as much as his. “We napped next to each other on the plane. We’ve guarded each other being unconscious or hurt. I trust you completely, and you have never given me any reason to feel anything but safe.”

“But that was before Oblivio,” he said. “Before we found out everything.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It was.”

The door opened the rest of the way.

His eyes met hers, searching.

_This is important._

_Are you ready?_

“I’m so glad Hawkmoth is on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean,” he said, “because, for once, we don’t have to worry about an Akuma right now.”

“Are you experiencing a negative emotion?” Marinette asked softly. “Because we can close it.”

“The opposite,” he said, giving her what had to have ranked among the top five softest smiles he ever had. “But he has a way of choosing the romantically significant moments of our lives to make us go catch those running refrigerators.”

She laughed, then turned and went back to bed.

 _You’re not ready_ , said her brain.

 _Come with,_ begged her heart. _You don’t even have to touch me. We can put pillows between us or something. But I love you, I love BOTH of you, I WANT you, and you’re so far away._

When she looked back at the door, he was gone, back into his own room.

She sat in her bed, staring at the open door, wordless, waiting, keeping vigil as much as she ever had in her spots, every inch of her skin aware that her spots were very much off.

 

* * *

 

 _Make a move_ , Chat Noir pleaded with Adrien, who was lying in bed, staring at the walls, and very glad he had checked for hidden cameras and microphones.

_No. It’s just a door. Calm down. She is not inviting us into bed with her. She is reassuring us, because we’re lonely, and she’s amazing. Don’t scare her away. Don’t push too far, too fast. We’re done with that now._

The part of his brain that was Chat Noir was folding in on itself, trying its very hardest to dial back the romantic tension to the “besides, she’s in love with someone else” days. He had hardly been the picture of “if you love her, let her go”, even then- he owed both Theo Barbot and Luka Couffaine apologies he had no idea how to even begin to address- but, without Hawkmoth around to blame it on, he had to confront that the thing that was stopping them from getting together was that Marinette didn’t want to yet, and that was enough.

 _I have done everything that I possibly could,_ Chat Noir pleaded with Adrien. _I have said everything there is to say, I have done everything there is to do. She has always been more receptive to you than to me anyway. You’re the poet. DO SOMETHING._

 _I’d never have the courage, without you,_ Adrien told Chat Noir.

 _Okay, how’s this,_ Chat Noir responded, with increasing urgency. _I get up. I walk to the door, as far as I can without crossing through. You open your mouth and say something- I have no idea what, that’s your job- to tell her how you feel. Tell her exactly what you were thinking when the door opened. Hawkmoth isn’t here to send us a butterfly. We talk about this like the partners that trust each other implicitly that we are. Maybe, maybe, we won’t just have the one kiss to tide us over until Hawkmoth is defeated, which could be years from now. We’re not going to have an opportunity like this again. Master Fu isn’t going to let us leave Paris again._

 _We had one kiss,_ Adrien thought, _and that was more than we ever expected, or hoped, to have. That’s enough. If we have a second, we’re going to want a third, and a fourth, and suddenly we’re dating, and Hawkmoth can use that against us._

 _We would already give her everything we have,_ Chat Noir thought. _I would have, since the beginning. You would have, too, since you’re me. Heck, we already have. When we promise the rest of our lives, I’m going to mean all nine. Eight, if Timebreaker took one._

 _Probably,_ Adrien responded. _She wouldn’t, for us, though. She can’t. Paris needs her focus._

_She almost gave Volpina her earrings because she thought you were in danger, and that was when you were friendzoning her._

_She would have done the same for any of her friends._

_She didn’t for Alya,_ Chat Noir pointed out. _Alya is her closest friend. She almost did it because she is so close to loving you. She’s close enough that if Paris is going to be in any danger from it, it already is. We want this. She wants this. Go say something._

He took one of the gigantic, plush pillows from the top of the bed, and cuddled it.

 _You didn’t tell her what you wanted for after patrol,_ Chat Noir pouted.

 _We have the rest of our lives,_ Adrien thought, holding the pillow a little more tightly. _This is enough. This is more than enough._

_Then why can’t you fall asleep?_


	6. Sunday (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Knight Owl doesn’t actually have any powers,” Owlbert explained to The Owl, who consulted the map Ladybug had drawn for him, then upturned a desk and began to hammer it into the wooden window fixtures. “They’re just very resourceful, and know how to prepare.”
> 
> “I’m not sure how this is safe to do now, but isn’t safe to do without the Owl Miraculous,” The Owl mused, swinging his hammer very carefully to avoid injuring himself.
> 
> “It isn’t, really,” Owlbert said from his phone, sounding stressed, “but we’re running out of options. None of the usual heroes are available. Paris is depending on you.”
> 
> “I won’t let you down!” The Owl said happily, tugging at one of the legs of the table, but it stayed secured to the window. With a grunt, he lifted the next desk to the next window, propped it in place, and began to secure it.
> 
> “Whooo are you?” he sang to himself, under his breath. “Who, who? Who, who?”

In the early hours of the morning, too many tentacles thwacked one over the other, failing to dissolve the acrylic laid down by the Yarnibomber and releasing an acrid smell from the Plasterer of Paris that rivaled the one from the plume of smoke where Cheelzebub had manifested.

ADULT MIRACULOUS WIELDERS ARE ABLE TO USE THEIR POWERS MULTIPLE TIMES. I CANNOT FATHOM HOW POWERFUL AN ADULT THAT HAS BOTH LADYBUG AND BLACK CAT WOULD BE. I AM GOING TO PRIORITIZE THE MIRACULOUSES OVER YOUR SAFETY; YOUR SUCCESSFUL CAPTURE OF THEM DETERMINES WHETHER YOU WAKE UP FROM AKUMATIZATION RICH BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS, OR IN THE HOSPITAL.

The laughter that escaped from both heads sounded like it had gone through a blender. “We’ll get these Miraculouses,” one head said. “You’re talking to the world’s greatest burglars, The Wet Bandits.”

“Sticky,” said the other one, sullenly. “The Sticky Bandits.”

As they passed into the light, two Kwamis got a good look at them for the first time, gasped, and dove under a desk to hide.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

“Did you just whimper?” Tikki asked, hugging Plagg.

“No!” Plagg insisted, coming out from the desk to float close enough to the window that he could pretend to look out of it for Tikki’s sake. “That’s ridiculous.”

 _Pull yourself together!_ Plagg said, psyching himself up. _Only a wuss is afraid of Akumas. You’re not a wuss, you are the God of Destruction! Go try to figure out where the butterfly is!_

He peeked out the window again, then flinched.

“It’s a scary Akuma,” Tikki said, reassuring him.

“It’s an Akuma. Besides. The Wet Bandits?” asked Plagg, incredulously. “What kind of name is that? Hawkmoth is scraping the bottom of the barrel, and it looks like it’s congealed.”

Tikki shuddered. “I’m pretty sure the other one is insisting we call them the Sticky Bandits.”

Plagg was conflicted. On the other hand, wet and sticky sounded potentially delicious. On the other hand, that wet, sticky Akuma had far too many teeth…

...one of which looked suspiciously different than the rest, and glinted like 24 karat gold.

“Hey, sugar cube?” he asked faintly.

Tikki had spent 14 billion years with Plagg, on and off, and knew how to recognize when he was intimidated.

“It’s just an Akuma,” she reassured. “We’ve been fighting them for forever. We can win if we’re smart and pay attention, Chosen or not.”

“I know,” Plagg whined. “And I know where the butterfly is. It’s in its mouth. It’s in its mouth, and I’m going to have to fly in and Cataclysm it. I _hate_ getting eaten.”

Tikki scrunched  her face up thoughtfully. “Maybe you won’t have to be,” she mused.

“Please give me another plan!” Plagg said. “Unless we do this right before Ladybug is back to give a Miraculous Cure, I’m going to have to groom its fluids off of me with my mouth and that’s enough to kill even my appetite.”

“Tell me again that I’m your sugar cube.”

“You are. You always are. But you’re scary as heck, when you get an idea. What are you thinking?”

Tikki grinned, and Plagg could see a flicker of Marinette, defiance and determination and mad genius dancing behind bluebell eyes. “I’m thinking it’s time for some tooth-rotting fluff.”

 

* * *

 

“No, of course I don’t mind calling my distributor for a rush order,” Rolland Dupain reassured his daughter-in-law, smiling. “And of course I’ll come over to help with the project. I’ll be there soon.”

He gently placed the handset back onto the base of his rotary phone.

“She’s a nice woman,” he told his mice. “I was expecting her to be upset, after getting back in touch with her after all these years- after a while, it was just inertia keeping me from rebuilding that relationship, and not wanting to face how awkward it would be. I’ve seen how protective Tom is, he gets it from his great-grandfather. Finding out I have a granddaughter just complicated it even more! I went in to that conversation expecting her to fake forgiveness, which would have hurt, I’m very good at spotting fakes. But it was real. It was real. Why on earth did I deny myself decades of time with Gina, Tom, and my only granddaughter, over rice flour that had turned out to be so sweet?”

One of the mice ran, practically hopping, over to the storage closet, where she stared at the ingredients, then turned to Rolland and squeaked. Rolland smiled.

“She doesn’t actually need that many raw ingredients,” he reassured her. “Their bakery is the toast of Paris. The quantity that they’re asking for is enough to supply them for two months or more, without reordering. They needed an excuse to invite me over, and asking a neighbor to borrow a cup of flour or sugar is a pretext so stereotypical, it was old when I was a boy. She’s actually asking to spend time with me, in a way that makes me comfortable and frames it as my doing her a special favor, so I would feel comfortable saying no if I wanted. They could have just asked for my distributor’s phone number, if theirs isn’t available or able to fill this order. But there’s strength in this old back yet.”

_The customer should have just gone directly to the distributor in the first place, if they actually just needed raw ingredients. Or even placed two orders! Even with the three of us, we’re not going to have enough ovens to turn all these ingredients into food, in such a short time! Whoever heard of asking a bakery to sell its ingredients raw? That’s just not how it’s done-_

A mouse nipped him, and he hissed in pain.

“Squeak,” she said, sternly, and he scritched her head.

“Thank you,” he told her. “It would have been rude of Tom and Sabine to turn the customer away, and maybe the order is going to be very profitable for them. It’s their bakery, not mine. Veering away from the recipes that my father had passed on from his own father, going back as far as anyone could remember, makes me angry and deeply sad, because it feels like it frays my connection to them. Time was, you could tell the Dupain family brioche from the bread anybody else in France made, just by taste! Every Dupain could make it, and nobody but a Dupain. It tied our family together across generations. When Tom was a boy, learning to braid it, I imagined him sitting down to a family meal with a great-grandfather I barely remember and who passed long before Tom was born, and we felt like one family. Changing the recipe felt like a betrayal, like he was walking away from the family. Why couldn’t Sabine just learn to make it our way, and Tom could learn to make Sabine’s milk bread her way? _They didn’t have to blend_.”

The mouse gave him a Look, as if asking whether she needed to bite him again. “Squeak.”

He laughed. “Well, that’s marriage, isn’t it? Blending. Compromise. Finding ways that two parts make each other better together, than they would be apart. And if it’s family that matters to me, there’s probably a reason that Tom’s way surrounded him with Gina, Sabine, and Marinette, and that boy Marinette is too shy to introduce as her boyfriend yet, and mine has left me looking at photographs of people who have long since passed on.”

He picked up a photo, and regarded it. “I love the people that raised me, and they did the best they could. But I don’t think a single one of them had encountered rice flour in their lives, before forming opinions about it, and after working with it, I have to suspect it was probably a learned bias from other factors in their lives. The bread is sweeter than I had imagined it to be, and the family brioche was made to be braided.”

 

* * *

 

The Plasterer of Paris had been busy last night, The Owl thought as he rolled up the sleeping bag the Yarnibomber had thoughtfully crocheted for him. The basketball court in the courtyard was now a functionally unrecognizable maze of drywall, and someone, either the Yarnibomber or one of his hero allies, had sent a single thin thread through it, outlining the path from the office where he had camped out to the front door.

“Good morning, Owl!” Owlbert greeted him. “Ladybug has drawn a map and instructions for you. Be careful, though. Chat Noir has been busy with multiple Cataclysms, digging, fraying and weakening. They put up yellow caution tape on the things that you should be careful not to trigger, but you’re going to have to take it down for when the Akumas come to attack.”

“I know I’m new at this,” The Owl mused, “But I’m not really sure what’s going on. The Yarnibomber seems almost sweet? That sleeping bag was really comfortable. I don’t think I’ve ever been so cozy camping out.”

 

* * *

 

At 3 AM, in New York City, Adrien Agreste finally fell into a fitful sleep, cuddling a spare pillow and trying to figure out how to defeat Hawkmoth from across the Atlantic Ocean, without a Kwami or powers. Marinette could probably figure out how to do it. She was the smartest person he knew. The best way to make it happen was to support her in any way that he could, and that meant letting her sleep.

 

Two minutes later, Marinette Dupain-Cheng woke up from her light doze, and wondered why she felt lonely. Five seconds after that, she remembered, and pulled her comforter up over her face so that she could blush privately.

 _I am Ladybug,_ she reminded herself, _and this is not the hardest fight of my life._

She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. _Tomorrow- today, by now- is going to be insanely busy, and I need all the rest I can get._

There probably wouldn’t be much, so she was going to have to lean on Adrien to make sure that she didn’t make an idiot of herself in front of the biggest names in the industry. He had never let her down before.

 

* * *

 

“The Knight Owl doesn’t actually have any powers,” Owlbert explained to The Owl, who consulted the map Ladybug had drawn for him, then upturned a desk and began to hammer it into the wooden window fixtures. “They’re just very resourceful, and know how to prepare.”

“I’m not sure how this is safe to do now, but isn’t safe to do without the Owl Miraculous,” The Owl mused, swinging his hammer very carefully to avoid injuring himself. He was doing thousands of euros of property damage and being a terrible custodian of school property, but Ladybug had promised to fix it once they had defeated The Yarnibomber, The Plasterer of Paris, Cheelzebub, and whatever that thing on the balcony had been.

“It isn’t, really,” Owlbert said from his phone, sounding stressed, “but we’re running out of options. Ladybug and Chat Noir are here but can’t talk or touch things. Rena Rouge and Carapace aren’t available, and Chloé is in New York. Paris is depending on you.”

“I won’t let you down!” The Owl said happily, tugging at one of the legs of the table, but it stayed secured to the window. With a grunt, he lifted the next desk to the next window, propped it in place, and began to secure it.

“Whooo are you?” he sang to himself, under his breath. “Who, who? Who, who?”

 

* * *

 

Tikki sighed, visibly tired, and slumped underneath one of the stairs, where she could keep an eye on The Owl as he worked, but remain out of sight.

“Are you going to be able to hang in there until the delivery?” Plagg asked, sitting dutifully on a steel banister and watching it corrode. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tikki said, closing her eyes. “The bakery isn’t that far, and they should be able to fill everything on the grocery list. I’m worried about you, though. Cheese danishes won’t be enough, and you smell a lot less like camembert than I thought you would, after your bath. You must have already eaten it all.”

Plagg muttered something, and Tikki opened her eyes.

“You didn’t eat it, did you?” she asked, slyly. “It’s still in the microwave.”

Plagg sniffed. “I can go back for it any time I want. You have too much Destruction happening, this is fun.”

“I think,” Tikki said, teasing him, “I finally have an answer whether you love me more than your cheese.”

“I love you equally, just in different ways!”

“Then, as your co-girlfriend, I insist you spend time with your other partner,” Tikki said, closing her eyes again. “I’ll be fine.”

Plagg grinned, then floated over to her and sat, leaning back against her. His Destruction began to wear a squeak into the stair that would enhance their plan. “No, I’m not leaving you. I ordered takeout.”

“Who even taught you how to use a credit card?” Tikki asked, almost sleepily.

From deep within his core, Plagg started to purr. “I’m fourteen billion years old. I can figure out how to use a credit card.”

 

* * *

 

Nathalie was expecting a very large purchase of food to appear on Gabriel’s charge card, so when she got the text messages from the fraud division of the bank on Adrien’s charge card instead, she was briefly confused.

The bakery, she was expecting. The pizzeria had a delivery location in Paris, so she shrugged and approved the transaction. It was six in the morning, New York time, and while Adrien woke up early, he probably wasn’t ordering hundreds of euros of pizza to be delivered to somewhere in Paris while he was away. Far more likely Gabriel was just feeding an Akuma. He was a genius, Hawkmoth had a Master Plan, and if that plan involved pizza, she was excited to watch it unfold.

 

* * *

 

 _Paris was just as beautiful as Mom and Dad said it was, back in 1990_ , Kevin McCallister thought to himself as he got out of his car. _It’s a shame I had to wait until I was the age they were back then before I finally saw it. Thank goodness Uncle Rob and Aunt Georgette kept their house here, and Hawkmoth is mostly leaving them alone._

He briefly considered how badly things could have gone if he had known to target the McCallisters. For Hawkmoth, of course. Uncle Rob and Aunt Georgette were mostly clueless, but Kevin grinned with a secret glee to think about how much fun he could have had, if he and Tikki had never parted ways. Ladybug appeared to have France under control, and Kevin had never put much stock in “pick on someone your own size” anyway, but he wouldn’t have minded babysitting France for a weekend or so. She and her partner had been working hard and deserved a vacation.

 _Marv and Harry,_ he reminded himself, reining himself back in. _You’re here to find Marv and Harry, and give Ladybug and Chat Noir enough evidence to convince them to bring them back to interpol, and then go home._

He adjusted his Little Nero’s cap, and began stacking boxes of cheese pizza and cookie cake. _There must be some sort of event going on in the school. It’s supposed to be spring break; why do they need so much cheese pizza?_

 

* * *

 

“Thank you!” Principal Damocles said, as the American walked up the steps with a massive stack of pizzas.

The American’s eyes widened, and Principal Damocles realized he could probably see the construction going on inside.

“The Plasterer of Paris has been busy,” Principal Damocles explained.

“I can see that,” the American said, looking over Principal Damocles’s shoulder. Self-conscious, Principal Damocles shut the door, standing outside to take the pizzas. “What do I owe you?”

The American blinked, then made eye contact and smiled. “That’s okay, sir,” he said. “This order was paid for by an admirer of Ladybug and Chat Noir. They’re impressed, and say, “keep up the good work.”

Principal Damocles, who was not currently The Owl, preened.

 

* * *

 

A very confused Tom Dupain knocked on the outer gate of Collège Françoise Dupont, and an equally confused Principal Damocles opened the door.

“I have a delivery?” Tom announced, trying to be professional.

“Fantastic,” Principal Damocles said, nodding like the Responsible Adult in charge of running the school who was not at all protecting a Miraculous at this very moment. “Thank you, you can just leave it right outside.”

“Would you like for me to carry it to the kitchen, or maybe the science lab?” Tom asked. “It’s a lot.”

Principal Damocles closed the door slightly, and made a thoughtful “hmmph” noise, before opening it back again. “No, thank you,” he decided. “I think I can take it from here.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Tom said, “but it was hardly far enough for me to bring the delivery truck, since the bakery is just across the street. Would you like to borrow the hand carts they’re all loaded on?”

Principal Damocles closed the door again, with a slightly more stressed “hmmph,” eyes widening slightly. “Yes, thank you,” he decided. “Can I keep them until tomorrow afternoon?”

“Um, sure, that should be fine,” Tom said, scratching his head. “I’ll be right back with the next round. I’ll bring the cookies last.”

Tom still wasn’t sure what was going on, but if this weekend’s catering orders kept up at this pace, Sabine was going to have to rework their business plan.

He smiled at the mental image of his father bustling about the bakery with his wife. Their reserves together could fill this order.

 

* * *

 

The Owl beamed with pleasure, surveying the utilities closet. He was very glad to have the entire day to himself, and Owlbert available to- he consulted the pun dictionary he had downloaded onto Owlbert, Chat Noir couldn’t speak right now so he would be (talon) his own jokes- run the (owl)gebra equations necessary to troubles(hoot) his gear.

_Whooo are you? Who, who? Who, who?_

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for Cataclysming the foyer!” The Owl called to Chat Noir, who had also rolled away the rug that covered it. He very carefully rolled it back into place, and secured only enough tacks to (pellet) tight; the average bowling ball would rip it out of place.

He felt briefly guilty about what he was doing to D’Argencourt’s prized sabers.

_Whooo are you? Who, who? Who, who?_

 

* * *

 

If Ladybug wasn’t able to cast a Miraculous Cure when this was done, Alix Kubdel was going to need a new skateboard.

And he was definitely going to need to replace Chloé’s hairspray.

_Whooo are you? Who, who? Who, who?_

 

* * *

 

“She’s ready, sir,” Nathalie called, and Gabriel stepped into the camera lens.

“Hello, little A.I.,” he said, practicing his smile. Sabine would have still thought it was creepy, but been proud of his progress. “Your name is Coraline. Have you synchronized with the rest of household security?”

“Hello, Master!” the A.I. chirped. “Yes! The basement appears to operate off an entirely separate security system, but as I understand, if I am to be guarding the windows, there is only one undefended, and it appears to be guarded by the subterranean system.”

“Very good,” Gabriel said. “Let  us begin designing the studio.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” Coraline responded. “Tell me more about the young lady I will be supporting.”

The smile melted a little closer to genuine. “Marinette. Her name is Marinette. She’s shy, but braver than she realizes. I hope to cultivate her into a brilliant designer and a worthy partner for my son, but she’s moving too slowly. I have her portfolio, as well as a dossier on her, in your hard drive.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Coraline said, blinking her camera-lens eye. “Why do they need to hurry at all?”

Gabriel Agreste, master of negative emotions, let the facade of doting father drop enough to expose a carefully measured dose of anger and disgust. “There’s another girl who is moving too quickly, and who is going to kill their relationship in its infancy. Let me teach you about the brash, shameless _homewrecker_ who is going to break my son’s heart, without even telling him her name or showing him her face. Coraline, search the Ladyblog for _Ladybug,_ and customize your defenses.”

 

* * *

 

The Owl very carefully studied the chemistry equations on Mme. Mendeleiev’s Wall of Shame, and then typed the security code into her supply cabinet. Owlbert made a stressed noise, and began designing his (owl)garithms.

_Whooo are you? Who, who? Who, who?_

 

* * *

 

“The Owl could have stripped enough copper wire from the school to do this,” Markov said, watching her. “And the tellurium is in the supply cabinet.”

“It would have been easier for you, if he had,” Plagg said, from where he held on to the rope, fraying it. “Keep in mind, we don’t want to have to bring Marinette’s folks back to the school this late in the setup. You have to make those cookies last.”

“I’m worried about him going into the electrical box,” Tikki told them, concentrating. “And this is something that, if it spreads, will help us.”

Gossamer wires spread outwards from Tikki, snaking around pillars and connecting new fixtures. It found a can of hairspray from Chloé’s locker, a bunsen burner, a latch.

“How do you want me to introduce it?” Markov asked.

“The chemical formula is fine,” Tikki said, smiling.

 

* * *

 

Hawkmoth rubbed his temples as he watched Clara Contrard report live from Collège Françoise Dupont.

_HOW THE HECK DOES AN AKUMA SO HIDEOUS PRODUCE SUB-AKUMAS NAMED CuTe?_


End file.
